THE 

RIGHT  TO  LOVE  '^ 


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DR.MAX  NORDAU 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


'^Xw^  G.^-^^ 


THE  RIGHT  TO  LOVE 


THE  RIGHT  TO  LOVE 


BY 

DR.  MAX  NORDAU 


ENGLISH   TRANSLATION 

BY 

MARY  J.  SAFFORD 


^ntbori^eb  ©bition 


F.  TENNYSON   NEELY 

PUBLISHER 
NEW  YORK  CHICAGO 


THE  WORKS  OF 

Dr.  MAX  NORDAU, 

Author  of  "  Degeneration,"  Etc. 

12mo,  cloth,  $1.50  Per   Volume. 


The  Comedy  of  Sentiment. 
The  Ailment  of  the  Century. 

The  Right  to  Love. 


For  sale  everywhere,  or  will  be  sent, 
post-paid,  to  any  address  in  the  United 
States,  Canada  or  Mexico,  on  receipt  of 
price.  

F.  TENNYSON  NEELY, 

Publisher, 

NEW  YORK.  CHICAGO. 


Copyright,  1895, 
By  F.  TENNYSON  NEELY. 


p-p 

September  8th,  i8gj. 
Dear  Mr,  Neely : 

I  return^  with  thanks,  the  manuscript  of  the  trans- 
lation of  "  The  Right  to  Love.''  It  is  very  well  done, 
I  have  found  it  necessary  to  change  hut  a  few  words. 
I  beg  to  express  to  the  translator  my  gratitude. 

With  regard  to  pirated  editions  of  some  of  my  ear- 
lier books  ^  I  thank  you  very  much  for  your  kind  advice 
and  am  quite  willing  to  leave  matters  entirely  in  your 
own  hands. 

You  are  on  the  spot  and  you  know  better  than  I  the 
best  course  to  take  to  defend  my  interests.  By  this 
ti7ne  you  know  that  "  The  Farce  of  Feeling  "  is  the 
novel  I  call  in  English  ''The  Comedy  of  Sentiment,'' 
for  which  we  have  already  agreed  as  to  the  publica- 
tion of  an  American  edition  by  you. 

Of  my  new  novels  you  shall  hear  all  particulars  as 
soon  as  I  think  it  desirable  and  advantageous  to  put 
them  before  the  public. 

With  kindest  regards  I  am, 

Yours  very  sincerely, 


I 

To  F,   Tennyson  Neely,  Esq., 
114  Fifth  Ave.,  N.   Y. 


534774 

fJHRDJDV 


DEDICATED    TO 

HER    EXCELLENCY    MADAM    OLGA    VON    NOVIKOFF 

BORN    VON    KIRIEEFF 

BY 

THE   AUTHOR 


IN   PLACE   OF   A   PREFACE. 
To    Her    Excellency    Madam    von 

NORDAU   OF   Moscow. 

My  kind  friend : 

If  I  write  your  name  in  the  pediment  of  this 
book,  it  is  not  because  I  am  persuaded  that  I 
*^  X^^ievr  €7ri  vr^ov  egsipa  *'  you  (you  can  be 
addressed  in  the  language  of  Homer),  but 
because  in  your  amiability  and  unduly  great 
modesty  you  assure  me  that  you  do  not  con- 
sider the  play  unworthy  of  you.  Therefore  I 
beg  you  to  see  in  my  dedication  no  overwean- 
ing  self-appreciation,  but  a  proof,  though  in- 
adequate, of  the  reverence  which  I  pay  to 
your  mind,  your  soul,  your  character. 

You  certainly  do  not  suspect,  my  gracious 
friend,  that  this  dedication  has  prevented  my 
doing  something  which  afterwards  I  should 
probably  have  regretted. 

*'  The  Right  to  Love  "  has  met  with  the  most 


X  IN  PLACE   OF  A  PREFACE. 

favorable  reception  on  every  German  stage 
upon  which  it  has  been  produced — true,  the 
number  is  not  yet  large.  Prominent  and 
weighty  periodicals  have  praised  it  with  little 
reservation  and  without  stint.  Yet  a  few  con- 
temptible mortals  who  (by  their  own  confes- 
sion) wished  to  avenge  themselves  upon  the 
author  of  *'  Degeneration,"  have  made  the 
greatest  efforts  to  stifle  it  under  falsehoods, 
calumny,  and  vulgarity. 

I  know  that  a  sensible  man  ought  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  such  persons.  Yet  I  was 
on  the  eve  of  succumbing  to  the  temptation  of 
dealing  with  these  worthless  folk  in  a  preface 
to  the  edition  of  my  drama  in  book  form. 

The  thought  that  the  play  is  to  be  dedi- 
cated to  you  came  to  the  aid  of  my  reason, 
and  strengthened  it  for  the  conquest  of 
temper. 

I  must  not  show  the  noble-minded  foreigner, 
who  knows  and  reveres  German  literature  as 
the  Pantheon  of  Lessing,  Goethe,  Schiller,  and 
Heine,  the  neglected  corners  of  this  proud 
structure. 


IN  PLACE   OF   A   PREFACE.  XI 

For  the  sake  of  your  name  I  have  exercised 
self-control,  and  avoided  a  rashness  in  which  I 
should  have  surrendered  too  much  of  my  dig- 
nity. Accept  my  thanks  for  the  beautiful 
influence  which  you  have  unconsciously  ex- 
erted, and  permit  me  to  lay  at  your  feet  this 
expression  of  my  homage. 

Max  Nordau. 


PERSONAGES. 

Joseph  Wahrmund,  Merchant. 

Otto  Bardenholm,  Assessor. 

Doctor  Buttner. 

Madam      Bertha     Wahrmund,     wife     of 

Joseph  Wahrmund. 
Madam  Fridorp,  her  mother. 
Madam  Burkhard,  Artist. 
Minna,  servant  in  the  Wahrmund  family. 
Lena,  Madam  Fridorp's  housekeeper. 
Governess    in    Joseph   Wahrmund's    employ 

(silent). 

Bessie,  7  years  old,  )  ,,r  1  ,,      1  .,j 

'  ^  V  Wahrmund  s  children. 

Louise,  5  years  old, 


PLACE. 

In  the  first  scene, 
Heringsdorf. 


In  the  second, 
LiCHTERFELDS. 


In  the  third  and  the  fourth, 
Berlin. 


TIME. 
The  Present  Day. 


No  interval  between  the  third  and  the  fourth 
acts. 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

ACT   I. 

Veranda  in  front  of  Wakrmund's  villa  at 
Heringsdorf,  The  back  and  the  left-hand  wall 
are  half  glass.  The  back  affords  a  view  of  the 
sea,  the  left  a  stretch  of  the  beach  and  the  downs. 
In  the  centre  of  the  back  wall  is  a  door  to  which 
three  steps  lead  from  the  outside.  At  the  right 
is  a  door  leading  into  the  living-rooms  of  the 
villa.  I7t  the  right-hand  corner  at  the  back  is  a 
round  table,  and  in  the  right-hand  corner  at  the 
front  stands  a  square  one.  A  t  the  left  are  several 
arm-chairs  and  rocking-chairs. 

Scene  I. 

Minna.    Wahrmund. 

Minna. 
{Holds  a  duster  in  her  hand  and  is  putting  the 
furniture  in  order.) 


2  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Wahrmund. 
{Shakiftg  the  veranda  door  on  the  outside,  then 
rapping  on  the  panes.) 
Minna  !  oh,  Minna  ! 

Minna  (calling). 
Yes,  yes  ;  I'm  coming  directly.    {Runs  to  the 
door  and  opens  it.) 

Wahrmund  {entering). 
Why,  confound  it,  who  has  locked  this  door 
again?     I  said  that  it  was  always  to  be  left 
open  during  the  day! 

Minna  {moving  the  chairs  about). 
Yes,  but  my  mistress  ordered  us  to  keep  it 
locked. 

Wahrmund. 
{Puts  his  hat  and  sun  umbrella  on  the  round 
table.     Grumbling^ 

Always  the  same  story.     I  never  can  have 
my  own  way.     Has  nothing  come  from  Berlin? 

Minna. 
Yes,  a  box.     {She  brings  it  from  the  square 
table:) 


THE   RIGHT  TO  LOVE.  3 

Wahrmund. 
Ah!    That's  it. 

Minna. 
Shall  I  open  it  ? 

Wahrmund. 
I'll  attend  to  that  myself.     {Takes  out  a  pen- 
knife). 

Minna. 

I'll  get  a  kitchen  knife. 

Wahrmund. 

That    isn't     necessary.       It's    very    lightly 

nailed.     But  you   can    bring  a   large  glass  of 

water. 

Minna. 

{Exit  throiLgk  the  door  at  the  right.) 

Wahrmund. 

(Prying  open  the  lid  of  the  box  with  his  pen- 
knife^ 

I  was  afraid  it  might  come  too  late — snap — 
Deuce  take  the  blade  !  Well,  no  harm  done 
— if  the  thing  only  pleases  Bertha. 

Minna. 
(Enters  with  a  tumbler  of  water ^ 


4  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Wahrmund  {raising  the  lid). 
There !  Perfectly  fresh.  Put  the  glass  on 
the  table.  {He  takes  out  of  the  box  a  large 
bouquet  of  gypsophila  and,  after  removing  the 
sheet  of  paper  wrapped  around  it,  places  it  ca.re- 
fully  hi  the  tumbler,  and  gives  the  paper  to 
Minna.)     Throw  that  away. 

Minna  {exit), 

Wahrmund. 
{Takes  his  hat  and  umbrella  from  the  round 
table,  on  which  the  bouquet  7tow  stands  alone ^ 
a7td  carries  it  to  the  square  table.  Here  he  looks 
at  the  mail  which  has  been  delivered,  three  let- 
ters and  two  nezvspapers.  He  puts  one  of  the 
letters  back  on  the  table,  tucks  the  newspapers, 
after  tearing  off  the  wrappers,  under  his  arm^ 
opens  the  letters,  hastily  glances  over  the  lines, 
and  thrusts  them  into  his  pocket  at  the  entrance 
of  Bertha  and  Bardenholm.) 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  5 

Scene  II. 

Wahrmund.    Bertha.    Bardenholm. 

{Bertha  enters  through  the  door  at  the  right; 
Bardenholm  follows  her,) 

Bertha. 
Oh  !     It's   very   warm    again    to-day.     {Sits 
down  in  an  arm-chair  at  the  left  and  fans  her- 
self with  her  handkerchief^ 

Bardenholm. 
We  walked  rapidly.     And  it  is  tiresome  to 
wade  through  the  sand. 

Bertha. 
{Has  taken  off  her  hat  and  rises  to  put  it 
down,) 

Bardenholm. 
Oh,  permit  me !    {Eagerly  takes  her  hat  from 
her  hand  and  hurries  to  the  round  table  with 
it) 

Bertha. 
{Gazing  out  through  the  glass  and  speaking 
over  her  shoulder  to   Wahrmund.)     No  letters 
to-day  } 


6  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Wahrmund. 
One  from  your  mother.     {Gives  it  to  her.) 

Bertha. 

(  Takes  and  opens  it  without  lookifig  at  Wahr- 
mund.) 

Wahrmund   {standing  beside  her). 

Well  ?     What   does   mother  write  ?     Is  she 
well?     Will  she  come? 

Bertha  {ungraciously). 
How  am  I  to  guess  the  contents?     Let  me 
read  it  first. 

Wahrmund  {aside  to  Bardenholm). 
My  wife  is  nervous  again  to-day. 

Bardenholm. 
We  must  deal  with  her  so  much  the  more 
tenderly.      Michelet     says :     '*  Woman     is    a 
wounded    creature." 

Wahrmund. 
Michelet  is  a  simpleton. 

Bardenholm. 
Oh,  no !     Michelet  is  a  finely  strung  artist 
nature. 


THE  RIGHT  TO  LOVE.  7 

Wahrmund. 
(  With  good-humored  sarcasm.) 
Yes,  he  can  be  called  that,  too. 

Bertha. 
{Putting  the  letter  into  her  pocket.) 
Mother  sends  her  love.     She  is  well,  but  too 
lazy  to  come  here. 

Wahrmund. 
Indeed  !      Well !     As  she  chooses.     It  was 
your  idea.     I  thought  at  once  that  the  sea  air 
would  not  be  good  for  her  rheumatism. 

Bertha. 
Of  course,  your  opinions  are  always  exactly 
the  reverse  of  mine. 

Wahrmund. 
Never  mind,    Bertha.       We  won't   dispute 
over   it.     But — where   are   you   leaving   your 
hat  again  ? 

Bardenholm. 
{Who  has  officiously  brought  a  stool  and  placed 
it  at  Bertha  s  feet,  starting  up.) 

Pardon  me.     There  wasn't  a  speck  of  dust 


8  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

on   the   table   when    I  put  the  hat  there.     I 
treat  the  lady's  belongings  reverently. 
Bertha  {sharply  to  Wahrmund). 
I  really  think  you  would  do  better  to  attend 
to  your  own  affairs. 

Wahrmund  {pleasantly). 
There  you  go  again.     I  only  said  it  to  make 
you  look  over  there. 

Bertha. 
{Glances  at  the  round  table.     Springiyig  7ip  and 
running  to  it^ 

Oh,  how  charming !  This  is  too  lovely. 
{Taking  the  bouquet  and  examinirig  it.)  But 
who  told  you  that  gypsophila  was  my  favorite 
flower? 

Bardenholm  {hesitatingly). 
Oh— I  ?— how 

Bertha. 
You  probably  sent  to  Berlin  for  it  ?     Such  a 
bouquet  cannot  be  had  here. 
Bardenholm. 
Unfortunately  I  am  not  the  giver — I  deeply 
regret  it. 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  9 

Bertha  (astonished). 
You  are  not  the  giver  ?     Then  who 

Wahrmund  {smiling). 
I  suppose  you  will  not  think  of  me  ? 

Bertha  {disappointed). 
You  ?     {Puts  the  bouquet  down  and  returns  to 
her  arm-chair^ 

Wahrmund  {as  before). 
Does  it  gratify  you  less  now  ? 

Bertha  {irritably). 
Don't  talk  nonsense  !     At  any  rate  I  thank 
you.     What  put  it    into   your    head    so    sud- 
denly ? 

Wahrmund. 

Don't  you  know  what  day  this  is  ? 

Bertha  {looking  at  him). 

Monday 

Wahrmund. 
No — I  mean  the  date. 

Bertha  {wonder ingly). 
The  second  of  August — {after  a  brief  pause 
of  reflection,  carelessly) — oh,  yes. 


lO  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Wahrmund  (to  Bardenkolm), 
Our  wedding-day. 

Bertha  {with  a  forced  smile). 
That's  such  an  old  story. 

Wahrmund. 
{Approaching  and  trying  to  embrace  her^  gal- 
lantly^ 

It  will  ever  remain  new  to  me. 

Bertha  (reptilsing  him). 
Don't !     You    know    I   don't    like    tender 
speeches. 

Wahrmund  {stepping  back). 
It   has   not   always   been  so.     When,  eight 
years  ago  to-day,  we  took  the  night  train  for 
Munich — the  full  moon  was  shining  into  the 
carriage  windows — we  did  not  sleep 

Bertha. 
Don't  be  so  wanting  in  good  taste. 

Wahrmund. 
Well,  well,  don't  be  troubled ;  I  shan't  com- 
promise you. 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  II 

Bardenholm. 
( Who  meanwhile  has  been  looking  at  the  bou- 
quet,) 

A  charming  little  flower.     What  do  you  call 
it? 

Bertha. 
Gypsophila. 

Wahrmund. 
And  in  the  Tyrol — the  evening  in  the  herds- 
man's  hut — when   you     heard    the    cow-bells 
tinkling  in  the   distance.     Do  you  remember 
how  sentimental  you  were  then  ? 

Bertha. 
I  remember  nothing. 

Wahrmund. 
Nonsense — you  are   only  pretending — such 
moments  are  never  forgotten. 

Bertha. 
I  recollect  only  one  thing — that  during  the 
whole  journey  I  was  terribly  homesick  for  my 
mother. 

Wahrmund. 
I  thank  you.     Very  complimentary  to  me. 


12  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

(To  Bardenhobn.)  If  I  may  give  you  a  bit  of 
advice,  my  dear  Assessor :  don't  marry.  Be- 
lieve me:  don't  marry. 

Bardenholm. 
But  your  example  is  not  calculated  to  alarm 
me.     If  one  could  be  sure  of  faring  as  you 

Wahrmund. 
Yes,  yes.     Everything  looks  far  more  beau- 
tiful from  a  bird's-eye  view. 
Bertha. 
You  are  right   to  complain.     You  know,  if 
you  long  for  liberty 

Wahrmund. 
Bravo !     Now  you    are    turning   me  out  of 
doors.     A  strange  celebration  of  this  anniver- 
sary. 

Bardenholm. 

You  worship  dates,  Wahrmund. 

Wahrmund. 
Certai7i  dates. 

Bardenholm. 
That  comes  from  the  holy  awe  of  the  mid- 
dle and  the  last.     It's  a  mercantile  custom. 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  13 

Bertha. 
A  Philistine  custom. 

Wahrmund. 
Philistine !      Mercantile  !      A   prosaic   para- 
phrase of  Schiller's  words.     Ah,  naay  love  be 
forever  verdant — well,  I  must  say 

Bertha  {turning  the  conversation^. 
Oh,  look !  there's  another  man  shooting  the 
sea-gulls.     It's  abominable  to  allow  it. 

Bardenholm  {approaching  her). 
Are    you    not    a    little    intolerant?      Why 
grudge  the  poor  jaded  residents  of  the  great 
cities,  who  come  here  to  rest  their  worn-out 
nerves,  a  little  pleasure  in  shooting? 

Wahrmund. 
{Goes  to  the  bouquet^  passes  his  hand  over  ity 
takes  a  chair,  and  operis  a  newspaper;  but  front 
time  to  time  glances  at  the  two  speakers.) 

Bertha. 
Fie,  hovv^  heartless  !     Have  you  no  pity  for 
the  poor  birds  ?     They  animate  the  landscape 
so  bewitchingly,  when  they  soar  through  the 


14  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

air  or  hover  over  the  sea.     Why  not  let  the 
pretty  creatures  enjoy  their  lives? 

Bardenholm  {laughing). 
Madam,    one    could    worship    your    artless 
egotism. 

Bertha. 
Egotism?     Because  I  would  like  to  protect 
the  gulls  from  cruel  sportsmen  ? 

Bardenholm. 
Certainly.  Unconscious  egotism,  it  is  true. 
You  make  yourself  the  advocate  of  the  gulls, 
not  on  their  account,  but  your  own.  They 
afford  you  pleasure.  You  enjoy  watching 
their  graceful  flight,  the  picturesque  white 
speck  relieved  against  the  pale  blue  sky  and 
the  dark  blue  sea. 

Bertha. 
Is  that  wrong? 

Bardenholm. 
Not   at    all.      Selfishness   is   not   wrong.     I 
consider   healthy  egotism  natural  and  justifi- 
able.    For  our  object   in  life  is  to  obtain  as 
many  pleasurable  emotions  as  possible.     But 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  15 

do  you  not  say  to  yourself  that  the  hunter 
derives  as  much  pleasure  from  his  game  as 
you  do  from  the  sight  of  the  sailing  gulls  ? 

Bertha. 
The   world   is    not    created    solely   for   the 
sportsman. 

Bardenholm. 
Nor    solely   for   you.       Egotism    confronts 
egotism,  and  the  stronger  is  in  the  right. 

Bertha. 
The  stronger  conquers. 

Bardenholm. 
Conquers,  or  is  in  the  right— it's  the  same 
thing. 

Wahrmund. 
I  must  remark— I  don't  look  at  it  from  so 
lofty   a  philosophical   standpoint,  but   practi- 
cally—that  shooting   gulls   seems   to    me    an 
innocent  amusement. 

Bardenholm  (sneeringly). 
Because  the  gulls  are  not  marketable  creat- 
ures? 


l6  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Warhmund. 
No.     Because  the  sportsman  on  the  beach 
doesn't  hit  them. 

Scene   III. 
The  Same.     Madam  Burkhard.    Dr. 

BUTTNER. 

Madam  Burkhard. 

{Appears  at  the  door  of  the  veranda  and  half 
opens  it.  She  is  dressed  with  elegant  simplicity 
— a  red-and-white  silk  blouse,  a  loosely-tied  blue 
cravat,  and  a  velvet  cap  on  her  short  curly 
hair.) 

May  we  come  in? 

Bertha. 
{Rising  and  going  to  vieet  her^ 
Certainly,  Madam  Burkhard,  certainly. 

Madam   Burkhard  {entering). 

Good  morning.     {Shakes  hands  with  Bertha. 

Wahrmund  bows  without  rising,  and  continues 

to  read  the  paper.     Dr.  Buttner  appears  at  the 

open  door  of  the  veranda  and  bows.    Barden- 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  1/ 

holm  shakes  hands  with  him.  Then  he  goes  up 
to  Wahrmund,  who  holds  out  one  finger  to  him. 
To  Bertha.)  You  have  been  taking  a  drill  in 
walking  to-day,  as  I  saw  just  now.  , 

Bertha. 
Yes,  we  were  up  on  the  downs  and  are  quite 
tired.      {To   Madam   Burkhard.)     Meanwhile, 
you  have   probably  been    employed  in  a  less 
military  fashion. 

Madam  Burkhard. 
I've  been  working  a  little. 

Bertha. 
What  progress  have  you   made  with   your 
sunset?     It  promised  to  be  very  beautiful. 

Madam  Burkhard. 
It  is  going  on  very  well.    I  have  still  several 
days  to  paint  on  it. 

Bertha. 
But  won't  you  sit  down  a  little  while  ? 

Madam  Burkhard. 
No,  thank  you,     I  am  going  directly. 


1 8  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Bertha. 

Just  a  minute. 

Madam  Burkhard. 
If  you   insist  upon   it.  {Sits  down.     Bertha 
does  the  sa^ne.) 

Biittner. 
Is  there  anything  interesting  in  the  papers, 

Wahrmund  ? 

Wahrmund  {coldly). 
I  don't  think  that  we  are  interested  in  the 
same  subjects.     If  you  would  like  to  have  the 
paper 

Biittner. 
Oh,  no,  thank  you.     I  am  glad  that  I'm  not 
obliged  to  read   any  here.     {Chats  with  Bar- 
de7tholm.) 

Madam  Burkhard  {to  Bertha). 
It's  time  to  go  in  bathing.     Won't  you  join 
me.  Madam  Wahrmund? 

Bertha. 
No.     I'm  not  going  in  to-day. 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  I9 

Madam  Burkhard. 
Indeed  ?  What  a  pity  !  Then  I  must  act 
the  siren  all  alone.  It's  too  stupid.  Well, 
you'll  never  catch  me  at  a  German  resort 
again.  This  ridiculous  separation  of  the 
sexes — that's  why  I  like  Ostend  and  Trouville. 

Bertha. 
My  husband  has  never  wanted  to  go  there 
with  me. 

Madam  Burkhard.' 
Probably  he  prefers  to  go  alone. 

Wahrmund. 
You    are    mistaken,    madam.      Immodesty 
affords  me  no  amusement. 

Madam  Burkhard. 
Immodesty  ?  Because  friends  can  bathe 
together?  Because  a  woman  is  permitted  to 
have  strong  and  attentive  protectors?  You 
are  a  famous  swimmer  and  diver — don't  you 
regret  that  you  can't  go  into  the  water  with 
your  wife? 


20  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Wabrmund. 
Most  men  hardly  go  to   Ostend  and  Trou- 
ville  to  bathe  with  their  own  wives. 

Madam  Burkhard. 
And  suppose  they  don't?     What  of  it  ?     Do 
not   women   dance   with  strangers  ?     And  are 
we  not   less   covered  in  a  ball-gown  than  in  a 
bathing-dress  ? 

Wahrmund. 
With  your  opinions,  madam,  you  must  like 
Cameron  even  better  than  Ostend  and  Trou- 
ville. 

Madam  Burkhard. 
Why? 

Wahrmund. 
Because  there   men  and  women   have  even 
less  restraint  while  bathing — namely,  no  bath- 
ing  costumes  at   all.      I  suppose  that  is  your 
ideal  ? 

Madam  Burkhard. 
There    you    are    very    much    mistaken.       It 
might  do  with    savages,  but    civilized   people 
are  so  ugly  naked. 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  21 

Wahrmund. 
But   if   they  were    sufficiently   beautiful   it 
would  disturb  you  no  further? 

Madam  Burkhard. 
Not  in  the  least. 

Wahrmund. 
I  cannot  soar  to  that  height  of  absence  of 
prejudice.      And — don't   take  offence    at    my 
frankness — I  cannot  appreciate  it  in  others. 

Bertha. 
My  husband  is  so  terribly  narrow-minded  in 
these  matters. 

Wahrmund. 
Thank  the  Lord  for  it ! 

Madam  Burkhard. 
Don't  be  imposed  upon,  dear  Madam 
Wahrmund.  Gentlemen  merely  pretend  that 
they  think  so.  Men  and  women  bathing  in 
the  sea  together — fie,  how  improper  !  But  to 
He  on  the  downs  for  hours  watching  us 
through  a  spyglass  —  that's  perfectly  right. 
Their  rigid  morality  permits  it. 


22  THE   RIGHT    TO   LOVE. 

Wahrmund. 
That  doesn't  hit  me,  for  I 


Madam  Burkhard. 
No.  I  am  speaking  in  general  terms,  merely 
to  show  you  that  people  here  are  not  one  whit 
better  than  in  Ostend  and  Trouville.  We  are 
only  a  little  more  hypocritical  and  sanctimoni- 
ous. But  I  believe  in  frankness.  {Rising.)  So, 
as  you  can't  come  with  me  {Bertha  makes  a 
gesture  of  regret  with  her  hayid),  I  must  go 
alone  to  join  the  angels  of  virtue.  Farewell 
till  we  next  meet. 

{Exit.     Biittner^  after  bowing,  follows  her,) 

Scene  IV. 

Wahrmund.  Bertha.  Bardenholm. 

Wahrmund. 
Frankness !     She  believes   in   frankness.     I 
call  it  shamelessness. 

Bertha  {veheme?ttly). 
How  can  you  use  such  a  word  ! 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  23 

Wahrmund. 
Do  you  want  to  uphold  the  woman  ?     She 
is  an  abomination  to  me. 

Bertha. 
And  you  show  it  plainly  enough.     You  are 
actually  rude  to  the  lady. 

Wahrmund. 
Well,    at   the   worst    she  won't    come   here 
again.      That  misfortune  can  be  endured. 

Bertha. 
I  should  deeply  regret  it.     She  is  a  beauti- 
ful, clever,  talented  woman.     I  prize  her  ac- 
quaintance. 

Wahrmund. 
I  hope  it  will  end  when  we  leave  here. 

Bertha. 
Perhaps  you  will   forbid   me   to   be  in  her 
society  ? 

Wahrmund  {gravely). 
You  are  no  child,  and  I  have  nothing  to  for- 
bid.    But  you  must  perceive  yourself  that  this 
woman  is  no  companion  for  you. 


24  THE  RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Bardenholm. 
Excuse    my   interrupting  this  exchange  of 

opinions 

Wahrmund. 
Yes.     Express  yourself 


Bardenholm. 
Since  the  acquaintance  came  through  me, 
you     really     judge     Madam     Burkhard     too 
severely. 

Bertha. 
Unjust  and  unkind. 

Bardenholm. 
She  is  an  artist  of  reputation. 

Wahrmund. 
A  woman  of    reputation,   too,  but — a   bad 
one. 

Bardenholm. 
Good  heavens!  we  must  allow  artists  to  have 
a  somewhat  freer  view  of  life. 

Wahrmund. 
H'm.     Yes.     So  say  all  the  dissolute  women 
who  strum  or  daub  a  little. 


THE    RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  2$ 

Bardenholm. 
Madam  Burkhard  is  no  amateur. 

Wahrmund. 
I  don't  say  that  she  is.     But  I  don't  believe 
that  her  pictures  are  any  the  better  because 
she  smokes,  uses  doubtful  language,  and  drags 
her  lover  about  with  her  like  a  poodle. 

Bardenholm. 
Artistic  activity  requires  play  of  feeling  and 
imagination,  and  they  probably  exclude  com- 
monplace matronly  propriety. 

Wahrmund. 

Indeed  ?    Well,  according  to  my  knowledge, 

the  patroness  of  music  is  a  saint,  and  some  of 

the   greatest  artists  of  the  Renaissance — I've 

forgotten  their  names,  it's  true — were  monks. 

Bardenholm. 
Morality  is  somewhat  conventional.  Society 
really  does  overlook  much  in  the  more  active 
emotional  life  and  more  vivid  power  of  imag- 
ination of  artists.  The  code  of  laws  of  moral- 
ity has  a  special  paragraph  for  them.     So  we 


26  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

are  not  justified  in  condemning  them  as  im- 
moral for  acts  which  probably  would  be  so  in 
others. 

Bertha. 
Madam  Burkhard  visits  the  best  families. 

Wahrmund. 
Yes,  people  who  would  struggle  for  Beelze- 
bub himself,  if  he   should    chance  to  be  the 
fashion. 

Bertha. 
Beelzebub — no,  really,  that  is  exasperating! 

So  an  artist 

Wahrmund. 
For   aught   I    care   she    may   be   a   female 
Raphael.     I  insist  that  that  does  not  justify 
her  in  creating  a  public  scandal. 

Bertha. 
Public.    That  is  the  point    She  just  answered 
that  remark  in  advance.     You  want  sham  and 
hypocrisy.     Her  crime  is  that  she    does   not 
dissimulate. 

Wahrmund. 
Certainly.     That  is  her  crime.     And  it  is  a 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  2/ 

serious  one.  Her  wretched  flirtations  with  her 
Dr.  Biittner  concern  her  and  her  relatives. 
They  are  nothing  to  me,  so  long  as  she  keeps 
them  out  of  sight,  as  decency  requires.  But 
when  she  flaunts  these  miserable  scandals  be- 
fore the  eyes  of  the  world  they  become  my 
affair.  They  inflict  a  personal  injury  upon 
me,  by,  for  instance,  unsettling  my  wife's  ideas 
of  morality. 

Bertha. 
You  need  not  fear  that.     I  know  perfectly 
well  what  to  think  of  Madam  Burkhard. 

Wahrmund. 
Indeed  !     Well,  out  with  your  opinion. 

Bertha  (excitedly), 
I  think  that  she  is  a  brave  woman.  She 
loves  a  man  and  has  the  courage  to  acknowl- 
edge her  love.  She  could  as  easily  assume 
the  semblance  of  virtue  as  all  the  secret  sin- 
ners in  fashionable  drawing-rooms,  whose  af- 
fairs, as  you  say,  are  no  concern  of  yours.  But 
she  disdains  to  do  so.  She  is  too  proud  to 
play  such  a  farce  for  the  sake  of  other  people. 


28  THE   RIGHT  TO  LOVE. 

Wahrmund. 
But — Bertha !     You  forget  that  the  woman 
is  married. 

Bertha. 
I  do  not  forget  it.     Her  husband  is  a  horror. 
A  dull-witted  vulgarian,  who  does  not  under- 
stand this  woman. 

Wahrmund. 
What  this  woman  wants  is  not  difficult  to 
understand. 

Bertha. 
No.     She  wants  her  share  of   the   joys    of 
life.     She  wants  happiness  and  love.     That  is 
the  first  and  most  sacred  right  of  every  creat- 
ure. 

Wahrmund. 
My   dear   Assessor,   what   must   you   think 
when  you  hear  my  wife  talk  in  this  way ! 

Bardenholm. 
Oh,  I   think  that  she   allows  herself  to  be 
carried  away  by  her  natural  generosity,  and, 
perhaps,   takes   up   the  cause  of   the  accused 
woman  rather  more  energetically  than 


THE  RIGHT  TO  LOVE.  29 

Bertha. 
What,  Assessor  Bardenholm,  don't  you  agree 
with  me  ? 

Bardenholm. 
Yes,  that  is 

Wahrmund. 
Oh,  then  I  am  curious 

Bardenholm. 
The  fact  is,  that  Madam  Burkhard  is  per- 
haps somewhat  imprudent.     She  might  make 
some  concessions  to  prevailing  custom. 

Bertha. 
Yes,  yes  ;  hide,  dissemble,  lie 

Wahrmund. 
I  consider  discretion    a   mitigating  circum- 
stance of  depravity. 

Bertha. 
Bravo !     That's  the  pocket  edition  of  your 
Philistine  morality. 

Wahrmund. 
I  should  like  to  know  yours. 


30  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Bertha. 
I  make  no  secret  of  it.     The  command  of 
the  heart  stands  first. 

Wahrmund. 

And  what  of  the  ten  commandments  ? 

Bardenholm. 
They  are  not  up-to-date. 

Bertha. 
Madam  Burkhard  loves  Dr.  Biittner. 

Wahrmund. 
Then  she  ought  to  get  a  divorce  from  her 
husband  and  marry  him.      That's  the  purpose 
for  which  the  law  of  divorce  was  invented. 

Bertha. 
Perhaps  her  husband  cannot  do  without  her. 
Perhaps   he    is   willing   to   permit    everything 
if  only  he  can  keep  her,  and  she  remains  out 
of  compassion  for  him. 

Bardenholm. 
That  happens  sometimes. 


THE  RIGHT   TO  LOVE.  3 1 

Wahrmund. 

What  happens  far  more  frequently  is  that 
the  poor  man  has  blind  confidence  in  his  wife 
and  that  she  basely  deceives  him.  But  no  mat- 
ter— Madam  Burkhard  can  go  to  the  deuce 
with  her  Buttner.  I  am  only  sorry  that  you 
speak  of  the  rights  of  this  fast  woman.  When 
people  marry  and  have  children,  they  have  no 
rights,  nothing  but  anathematized  duty,  and 
the  obligation  of  being  respectable. 
Bertha. 

That  is  monstrous.     So  a  woman  who  has 
the  misfortune  to  be  married 

Wahrmund. 
She   probably  sought    the  misfortune   very 

zealously 

Bertha. 
Must  cease  to  be  a  thinking,  feeling  creat- 
ure— she   must    have    no   heart,  no   brain,  no 
eyes — she  must  become  a  chattel 

Wahrmund. 
Enough.     Drop  the  subject  before  the  chil- 
dren. 


32  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Scene  V. 

The  Same.    Bessie,  Louise,  and  the 

Governess. 

Bessie  and  Louise  enter  through  the  door  at 
the  right,  where  the  governess  remains  stand- 
ing, Louise  goes  to  Bardenholm,  who  takes 
her  in  his  lap  a^td  pets  her, 

Bessie  (to  Bertha). 
Mamma,  may  we  go  and  look  for  shells  ? 

Bertha. 
Yes,  child.     (Kisses  her,) 

Bessie. 

(Exit,    Stopping  in  the  middle  of  the  veranda^ 
May  we  go  bare-foot  ? 

Bertha. 
Yes,  child. 

Bessie. 
(Claps  her  hands  joyfully,  runs  to  a  chair, 
sits  down,  and  begins  to  take  off  her  shoes.) 

Bertha. 
(Startijig  up  and  hastening  to  her.) 
Not  here  !     Fie,  how  naughty  !     Come,  I'll 


THE  RIGHT  TO  LOVE.  33 

take  off  your  shoes  and  stockings.  {Exit 
with  both  childreft  through  the  door  at  the 
right.) 

Scene  VI. 
Wahrmund.    Bardenholm. 
Bardenholm. 
They  are  charming  children. 

Wahrmund. 
Yes.     With   two   such    rosy   little    faces   in 
the  house — one  knows  for  what  he  is  living. 

Bardenholm. 
So  we  ought  to  marry. 

Wahrmund. 
Of  course — if  we  desire  to  have  children ; 
only  we  must  clearly  understand  one  thing: 
Those  who  once  possess  children  must  sacri- 
fice everything  to  them — independence,  lib- 
erty, inclinations,  everything,  and  consider 
their  prosperity  sufficient  compensation  for 
every  sacrifice.  Whoever  cannot  be  content 
with  this  does  wrong  to  bring  children  into 
the  world. 
3 


34  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Scene  VII. 
The  Same.  Bertha.  The  Children. 
The  Governess. 
Bertha  enters  with  an  embroidery  frame  ;  the 
children  follow  bare-footed.  They  run  merrily 
across  the  veranda  a^id  out  through  the  central 
door.     The  gover?iess  follows. 

Bertha. 
{Calling  after  them  through  the  door.) 
But  don't  go  into  the  water.     Be  good  and 
stay  on   the  beach.     And  come  back  here  at 
one  o'clock.     {Returns  to  her  chair?) 

Bardenholm. 
{Looks  after  the  children^ 

Wahrmund. 
You  ought  not  to  have  let  the  little  ones  go 
alone. 

Bertha. 
The  governess  is  with  them. 

Wahrmund. 
She   is    a   little   clumsy.     You    should   not 
depend  upon  her. 


THE   RIGHT   TO    LOVE.  35 

Bertha. 
Ah  !     Now  you  want  to  teach  me  my  mater- 
nal duties. 

Wahrmund  {after  a  short  pause'). 
Do  you  know  I  am  sorry  that  your  mother 
is  not  coming  ? 

Bertha. 
All  at  once? 

Wahrmund. 
Yes.     Perhaps  she  might  have  put  you  in  a 
somewhat  better  humor. 

Bertha. 
Whose  fault  is  it  that  I  am  out  of  temper  ? 

Wahrmund. 
Well,  that  is  good.     {Rises,  approaches  Bar- 
denhobn    a7id    also    looks    after    the    children. 
After  another  patise.)     I  don't  feel  quite  easy. 
I'll  watch  them  myself. 

Bertha. 
You  are  at  liberty  to  do  so. 

Wahrmund. 
{Takes  his  hat  and  sun  umbrella.      Patting 


36  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Bardenholm  on  the  shoulder  as  he  passes  out.) 
Don't  marry,  Assessor;  take  my  advice,  don't 
marry  {exit). 

Scene  VIII. 

Bardenholm.    Bertha. 

Bardenholm  (calling  after  hiin). 
No  danger,  my  dear  Wahrmund.  {Watches 
him  a  short  time^  then  pushes  a  chair  beside 
Bertha,  who  has  begicn  to  embroider,  and  sits 
down.  After  a  short  pause ^  during  which  he 
has  watched  her)  Did  you  invite  your  mother 
to  come  here? 

Bertha  {without  looking  up)» 
Yes. 

Bardenholm. 

You  naughty  angel.     Then  we  should  never 
have  been  a  moment  alone. 

Bertha. 
That  was  the  very  reason. 

Bardenholm. 
But  why  should  you  grudge  me  these  brief 
minutes  of  happiness? 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  37 

Bertha. 
I  am  afraid. 

Bardenholm. 
Afraid?     Of  me? 

Bertha. 
Of  you.     Of  myself. 

Bardenholm. 
Have  we  ever  done  any  wrong? 

Bertha. 
No.     It  is  not  that. 

Bardenholm. 
Does  it  harm  any  one  if  often  during  the  day 
I  sit  on  the  sand  at  your  feet  and  read  aloud 
to  you,  or  if  in  the  evening  we  stroll  over  the 
downs,  gazing  silently  out  at  the  sea,  glittering 
in  the  moonlight,  and  I  feel  your  warm  hand 
on  my  arm  ?     Is  it  not  sweet  ? 

Bertha. 
Too  sweet ;  too  dangerously  sweet.     (A  short 
pause ^     I  have  often  intended  to  say  :  Go,  Bar- 
denholm.    Leave  Heringsdorf.     I  often  think 
I  have  the  power  to  ask  this  of  you — in  the 


38  THE  RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

morning,  when  I  rise  ;  before  I  have  seen  you. 
Then  you  come,  you  speak  to  me,  and  I  can- 
not. Bardenholm,  you  ought  to  do  it  unasked. 
You  ought  to  have  pity  on  me. 

Bardenholm. 
Have    pity   on   me.      I    love    you,    Bertha. 
{Moves  close  to  her  and  clasps  her  hand.) 

Bertha  {quickly  withdraws  it). 
Sit  a  little  farther  away.      {Bardenholm  sigh- 
ing, moves  back.)     You  ought  not  to  say  that 
to  me,  Bardenholm. 

Bardenholm. 
Yet,  just  now  you  yourself  so  eloquently  de- 
fended the  right  of  every  human  being  to  love 
and  happiness.     You  were  so  bewitching.     I 
longed  to  kneel  before  you  and  kiss  your  feet. 

Bertha. 
When  I  speak  so,  I   am  really  trying  to  con- 
vince myself.      But   I  have   never  yet  wholly 
succeeded. 

Bardenholm. 
Have  prejudices  power  over  you,  you  who 


THE   RIGHT   TO    LOVE.  39 

think  so  independently,  judge  so  unrestrained- 
ly— over  such  a  free,  broad  soul  ? 

Bertha. 
Prejudices — I  believe  I  could  conquer  them. 
It  is  not  that. 

Bardenholm. 
If  not,  what  is  it,  then  ? 

Bertha. 

Bardenholm,  I  cannot  lie.  I  cannot  dissim- 
ulate. I  can  do  nothing  secretly  and  hide  it 
from  others. 

Bardenholm. 

That  is  a  noble  trait  in  your  character,  but 
it  must  not  be  exaggerated.  We  live  in  a  so- 
ciety of  dull  Philistines  and  hypocrites.  If  we 
offend  their  prejudices,  they  crush  us.  Soci- 
ety is  stronger  than  we.  It  is  an  honorable 
warfare,  if  we  use  against  it  the  only  weapon 
at  our  command  to  fight  the  thousand-eyed, 
thousand-tongued,  thousand-fisted  monster :  a 
little  shrewdness  and  caution.  {A  skorf pause.) 
You  do  not  employ  them  enough.  That  is 
wrong.     If  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  so  to 


40  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

you,  you  really  treat  Wahrmund  too   badly. 
It  must  finally  make  him  suspicious. 

Bertha. 
I  am  sorry  for  it  myself  afterwards — but 
what  can  I  do  ?  It  is  stronger  than  my  will. 
This  dull,  contented  composure,  this  lack  of 
perception  that  I  am  struggling,  wavering, 
suffering,  are  enough  to  drive  one  mad.  I 
should  often  like  to  shriek  aloud,  to  cry  out  to 
his  face:  ''Are  you  blind?  Are  you  deaf? 
Don't  you  see  that  you  are  losing  me  ?  Why 
don't  you  defend  yourself  ?  " 

Bardenholm. 
He  certainly  has  confidence. 

Bertha. 
I   don't   thank  him  for  it.     Such  confidence 
is  an   insult.     I   am  not   old,  I  am  not  uglier 
than  other  women 

Bardenholm  {moving  nearer). 
You  are  bewitching 

Bertha. 
Sit  a  little  further  away.     He  ought  to  know 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  41 

that  I  can  be  exposed  to  temptation.  But  he 
doesn't  trouble  himself  about  it.  He  is  so 
sure  of  victory — so  grotesquely  self-complacent 
— it  is  unbearable  ! 

Bardenholm. 
But  so  convenient.     He  himself  invited  me 
to  spend  the  vacation  here  with  you. 

Bertha. 
Convenient !      Convenient !      I   don't  value 
this  convenience.     And  you,  Bardenholm  ? 

Bardenholm. 
Good  heavens !  everything  has  two  sides. 
On  the  one  hand,  it  would  certainly  be  more 
agreeable  to  me  if  he  were  suspicious  and  bru- 
tal— then  I  could  defy  and  contend  with  him — 
that  would  be  chivalrous — I  should  stand  in  a 
finer  attitude.  But  for  you,  for  your  peace,  it 
is  surely  better  as  it  is. 

Bertha. 
For  my  peace  !     Do  you  believe  that  I  could 
be  at  ease  when  I  knew  that   I  was  deceiving 
some  one?     Would  you  be   untroubled  with 


42  THE    RIGHT   TO    LOVE. 

such  a  consciousness  ?     Would  you  be  able  to 
clasp  my  husband's  hand  if {hesitates.) 

Bardenholm. 
I  love  you,  Bertha,  and  I  see  nothing  else. 
That  is  the  nature  of  the  struggle  for  women  ; 
it  rages  even  between  brothers.  Love  is 
stronger  than  any  bond  of  friendship.  And, 
finally,  why  should  I  have  scruples?  I  am 
robbing  your  husband  of  nothing.  He  has 
had  the  fairest  years  of  your  life,  your  fresh 
youth  and  innocence. 

Bertha. 
Ah  !  Bardenholm,  do  not  remind  me  of  it. 

Bardenholm. 
He    has  his   children,  who   are  all   in   all  to 
him  and  who  supply  the  place  of  everything. 
He  told  me  so  just  now.     He  never  possessed 
your  heart,  your  soul. 

Bertha. 
Never,  Bardenholm,  I   swear  it.     There  has 
always    been    a   void     within — the    world    be- 
lieved me  happy  because  I  lived  comfortably, 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  43 

wore  pretty  dresses,  entertained,  went  to  water- 
ing-places. Our  marriage  was  considered  a 
model  one — and  all  the  time  I  felt  that  I 
was  wandering  alone  at  night  in  a  wilderness 
with  neither  companion,  path,  nor  goal.  There 
was  a  sense  of  dissatisfaction  which  never  left 
me.  I  had  a  constant  longing  for  something 
unknown.  I  lacked — I  knew  not  what.  Now 
I  do  know.  {In  a  lozver  tone.)  I  knew  it  on 
the  evening  when  you  were  first  introduced 
to  me. 

Bardenholm. 
Oh,  Bertha !     And  yet ? 

Bertha. 
I  dare  not.  If  I  were  free — alas  !  Mothers 
do  not  know  what  they  are  doing  when  they 
marry  their  daughters  to  the  first  comer, 
merely  to  know  that  they  are  provided  for. 
Then,  if  the  right  man  comes,  it  is  too  late. 

Bardenholm. 
That  can  no  longer  be  changed.     Let  us  at 
least  take  from  life  what  we  can  still  obtain. 


44  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

(He  moves  nearer^  seizes  her  hand,  and  kisses  it 
passionately.     She  withdraws  it.) 

Bertha. 
Take  what  we   can  still  obtain.     Yes,  yes. 
A    single    moment    of    rapture.      And    what 
then  } 

Bardenholm. 
What   then  ?     We   shall   always   have  had 
this  moment.     And  its  memory  will  be  ours 
forever. 

Bertha. 
A  sorrow's  crown  of  sorrow  is  the  thought 
of  happier  things. 

Bardenholm. 
That  is  a  paradox  which  Dante  brought  into 
fashion.     It  is  wholly  false.     A  sunny  memory 
will  illumine  an  entire  life. 

Bertha. 
Will  a  sunny  memory  satisfy  you  ? 

Bardenholm. 
It  must,  if  I  can  have  nothing  more. 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  45 

Bertha. 
It  will  not  suffice  for  me.  So  {beseechingly) 
leave  me,  Bardenholm.  It  is  better  so.  For 
you  as  well  as  for  me.  There  are  so  many- 
girls  who  are  free,  who  can  love  you,  make 
you  happy ;  why  choose  me,  who 

Bardenholm. 
Because  I  love  you  and  no  one  else. 

Bertha. 
For  how  long  ? 

Bardenholm. 
Forever. 

Bertha. 
You    say  that.     And   later— you  will   have 
one   more    conquest   on   your  list,   while   my 
portion  will  be  despair.     No,  no. 

Bardenholm. 
You  are  cruel,  cruel,  cruel ! 

Bertha. 
Cruel!     Because    I    deny  myself  happiness 
to    have   peace  ?  {very  tenderly})     Bardenholm, 
why  do  you  ask  what  is  impossible?     Why 


46  THE   RIGHT   TO    LOVE. 

will  you  not  remain  my  friend  as  before  ? 
{Bardenholm,  disappointed,  draws  back  a  little.) 
It  is  so  beautiful  a  relation,  so  pure  and  free 
from  reproach.  I  will  be  your  most  devoted 
friend,  your  most  grateful  pupil.  You  enlarge 
my  circle  of  vision — you  develop  my  intellect — 
you  open  to  me  the  perception  of  everything 
beautiful.  Bardenholm,  I  have  always  felt 
the  greatest  pleasure  when  you  read  aloud 
and  explained  anything  to  me  and  when  we 
went  together  into  the  old  Museum  and  I 
learned  to  see  through  your  eyes  all  the  beau- 
ties which  will  remain  forever  hidden  from  the 
dull  Philistine.  After  such  hours  I  have  never 
felt  remorse.  Why  should  it  not  remain  so 
always  ? 

Bardenholm. 

Ask   your    own    heart,    your    own    nerves, 

whether  that  would  be  possible.     Do  not  try 

to   rebel    against    the    most    powerful   law    of 

nature.     It  is  infinitely  stronger  than  our  poor 

will. 

Bertha. 

But  surely  it  ought  not  to  be  so.     I  must 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 


47 


not  be  yours.  Ah,  if  I  had  but  known  you 
earlier,  when  I  was  free,  or  never !  I  am  too 
good  for  a  mere  caprice.  Yet  I  cannot  be 
more  to  you. 

Bardenholm. 
A  caprice.  Bertha !  What  proof  of  my  love 
do  you  desire?  What  can  I  do  to  convince 
you  ?  Do  you  want  my  Hfe  ?  Is  it  my  fault 
that  you  are  not  free  ?  Is  it  not  my  despair? 
{Bertha  secretly  wipes  her  eyes.)  It  haunts  me 
day  and  night.  I  strive  to  relieve  my  heart 
in  verse,  but  it  is  of  no  avail. 

Bertha  {looking  up  eagerly). 
Oh,  have  you  written  another  poem  ?     Oh, 
pray,  pray  read  it,  Bardenholm. 

Bardenholm. 
{Draws  a  sheet  of  paper  from  his  pocket  and 
reads,  simply,  but  with  deep  emotion). 

Fain  would  I  battle  for  thy  sake. 

But  may  I  dare? 
I  must  my  voice  a  whisper  make, 

Thy  name  to  bear. 


48  THE   RIGHT   TO    LOVE. 

Fain  would  I  shout  in  ringing  tone, 
"  Come,  love  !     Be  mine  !  " 

Did  I  not  see  ''  No  "  written  on 
Thy  face  divine. 

Fain  would  I  earn,  mine  own,  for  thee. 

Thy  daily  food. 
What  joy  to  gain,  'mid  penury. 

Thy  livelihood — 
Show  thee  the  might  of  my  strong  arm  ! 

But  when  I  see 
His  and  thy  children's  eyes,  alarm 

And  grief  meet  me. 

What  may  I  dare  then  ?     From  afar 

Only  love  thee, 
E'en  as  we  love  some  distant  star, 

All  hopelessly  ; 
Think  with  fond  yearning  of  thee.  Sweet, 

And  grieve  o'er  fate, 
While  sobbing  vainly  at  thy  feet, 

**  Too  late  !     Too  late  !  " 

Bertha  (iiiournftilly). 
Too  late,  too  late— Oh,  Otto,  Otto! 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  49 

Bardenholm. 
(Starts  up  and  tries  to  embrace  her.) 

Bertha. 
{Also  rises  hastily  and  moves  several  steps 
away.) 

For  heaven's  sake,  take  care!     We  are  in  a 
glass  house. 

Bardenholm. 
{Lets    himself  fall    into   the  chair,   sighing 
heavily^ 

Unfortunately. 

Bertha. 
(  With  her  forehead  pressed  against  the  glass 
wall.) 

Happily. 

( The  curtain  falls.) 

4 


ACT  II. 

{Madam  Fridorp's  drawing-room.  Plainly 
furnished  in  homely  style.  Flowers.  Cage  with 
canaries.  Doors  at  the  right  and  rear.  Tzuo 
windows  at  the  left.) 

Scene  I. 

Madam  Fridorp.    Lena. 

{Madam  Fridorp  sits  at  a  window  embroider- 
ing.    Lena  stands  before  her.) 

Lena. 

{Takes  a  large  fish  out  of  a  basket  which  she 
has  set  on  the  floor ^ 

Just  look  at  this  pike.  Isn't  he  a  beauty,  a 
royal  pike  ?     Isn't  he  a  splendid  fellow  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Yes,  Lena,  indeed  he  is. 

Lena. 
He's  fit  for  the  king's  table.     And  he  cost 


52  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

sixty  cents.     What  do  you  suppose  the  fish- 
wife asked  for  him  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Well? 

Lena. 

She  asked  seventy-five.  ''  What !  "  I  said, 
*' seventy-five  cents  for  a  pike?  Maybe  he's  a 
titled  pike?"  "  So  he  is/' she  said.  I  offered 
her  thirty  cents,  and  she  abused  me  roundly. 
But  I  paid  her  back  in  her  own  coin,  and  at 
last  she  let  me  have  him  for  sixty  cents. 
Isn't  that  splendid? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Yes,  Lena. 

Lena. 
No    one  can  get  such  good  bargains  as  I. 
You  say  so  yourself. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
That's  true,  Lena. 

Lena. 
(  Taking  two  apples  out  of  the  basket^ 
And   just  see  these  apples.     They'll    tickle 
the   children,    though    they  were    a   bit    dear. 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  53 

Four  pennies  apiece.  But  they  were  the 
finest  ones  in  the  whole  market.  And  I 
saved  it  on  the  pike. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
(  Who  has  looked  out  of  the  window^ 
Capital,    Lena ;  but  now   carry   it  into  the 
kitchen  and  go  to  the  door.     Mr.  Wahrmund 
is  coming. 

{Exit  Lena  with  the  basket.  Directly  after, 
a  bell  is  heard.) 

Scene  II. 

Madam  Fridorp.    Wahrmund.    Lena. 

{Wahrmund  enters.  Lena  follows  him. 
Madam  Fridorp  goes  to  meet  Wahrmund. 
Both  shake  hands  cordially^ 

Wahrmund. 
Good    morning,    mother.       How   are   you  ? 
Well? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Did  you  come  alone? 

Wahrmund. 
Bertha  and  the  children  will  take  the  next 


54  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

train.      I   wanted   to   get   here   before   them. 
Well,  how  have  you  been  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Very  well,  thank  you. 

Lena. 
She    says    so,    Mr.    Wahrmund.      But    my 
mistress  has  had    her   rheumatic   pains  again 
terribly. 

Wahrmund. 
Has   she  ?     Poor  mother.     Next  year  we'll 
go  to  Wildbad  with  you. 

Lena. 
Yes,  that  will  do  her  good. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
No,    no.      You    shall    not   go    to   any   dull 
springs   on    my   account.       How   brown    you 
have  grown  at  the  seashore ! 

Lena. 
Like  the  dragoons  after  the  manoeuvres,  sir. 

Wahrmund. 
My  wife  will  bring  you  something,  Lena. 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  55 

Lena. 
Thank   you    kindly,    sir.     She    is  a  darling. 
What  is  it? 

Wahrmund. 
You'll  see  presently.     This  trifle  is  for  you, 
mother.     {Gives  her  a  gold  locket^ 

Madam   Fridorp. 
No — really — you    ought    not.     {Has  opened 
the  locket^     Charming — Bertha  in  the  middle, 
Bessie  and    Louise   leaning  against  her — you 
behind  them — you   are  a  little  indistinct. 

Wahrmund. 
I  am  a  minor  consideration.     If  only  Bertha 
and  the  children  are  good. 

Lena. 

{Who  has  looked  over  Madam  Fridorp' s 
shoulder^ 

Indeed  they  are.  Little  Louise  is  so  sweet 
that  a  body  would  like  to  bite  her. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Yes,  Lena,  but  go  now,  or  you  won't  have 
everything  ready. 


56  THE  RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Lena. 
Oh,  there's  no  trouble  about  that.      One, 
two,  three,  and  away.     You  know  how  I  man- 
age.    {Exit) 

Scene  III. 

Madam  Fridorp.    Wahrmund. 

Wahrmund. 
It  was  time. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
One  must  have  patience  with  an  old  servant. 
Just  think,  I've  had  her  for  thirty-two  years. 

Wahrmund. 
Yes. — It  was  a  pity  you  did  not  come,  mother. 
You   would    have   liked    Heringsdorf.       {Sits 
down.) 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Oh,  you  are  really  too  kind — but  I  am  not 
fond  of  travelling. 

Wahrmund. 
Travelling  !     That  little  railway  journey  ! 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  57 

Madam  Fridorp. 
I  am  happiest  in   my  own  home,  with  my 
flowers  and  my  birds.     They  need  me. 

Wahrmund. 
And  I? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
You  ?     You  have  each  other,  you  have  your 
children,  your  friends.     A  dull  old  woman  can 
only  be  in  your  way. 

Wahrmund. 

(Clasping  her  hand  and  kissing  it.) 

How  can   you   talk  so,  mother.     You  know 

that  you  have  never  been  in  our  way,  and  now 

less  than   ever.      You  would  not   have  been 

superfluous  at  Heringsdorf. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
How  could  I  have  served  you  ? 

Wahrmund. 
I  will  tell  you,  mother. 


58  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Scene  IV. 

Lena. 
{Comes  in  with  the  fish}) 
1  must  show  you  the   pike   which  you   are 
to   eat   to-night,  Mr.  Wahrmund  ;    isn't  he  a 
splendid  fellow  ? 

Wahrmund. 
Yes  ;  but  I  shall  not  stay  to  supper. 

Madame  Fridorp  and  Lena. 
(At  the  same  time). 
You  won't  stay  ?     What — you    won't    stay, 
Mr.  Wahrmund  ? 

Wahrmund. 
No.     I  must  go  back  to  town. 

Lena. 
And  won't  Madam  Bertha  be  here  either? 

Wahrmund. 
Yes ;  my  wife  and   the   children  will   enjoy 
your  pike. 

Lena. 
Well,   that   was  a  scare.     What  should   we 


THE   RIGHT   TO    LOVE.  59 

have  done  with  the  splendid  fish  and  the  roast 
duck  ?  People  take  so  much  trouble  to  get  a 
nice  supper — ^just  ask  my  mistress  now. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Very  well,  Lena  ;  but  now  go. 

Lena. 
Yes,  I  am  going  at  once.     Too  bad,  too  bad, 
that  Mr.  Wahrmund  won't  stay.     {Exit.) 

Madam  Fridorp. 
What  were  we  saying? 

Wahrmund. 
I  was  telling  you  that  you  would  have  been 
very  useful  in  Heringsdorf. 

Lena  {rushing  in  again). 
One  thing  more,  sir.  I  know  very  well  how 
my  mistress  got  her  rheumatism  again.  ( Wahr- 
mund rises  and  paces  excitedly  up  and  down.) 
She's  constantly  at  my  heels.  {She  follows 
close  behind  Wahrmund^  In  the  cellar,  in  the 
damp  laundry — everywhere.  Talk  to  her  about 
it,  Mr.  Wahrmund.  She  won't  listen  to  me. 
When  a  lady  has  a  Lena,  she  can  depend  upon 


6o  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

her,  and  need   not  make  herself  ill  by  watch- 
ing and 

Wahrmud  {vehemently). 
Confound    it,    this    really   ought — can't   we 
have  a  moment  undisturbed? 

Lena. 
{^Stands  still  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with 
her  mouth  wide  ope7t  in  amaze7ne7tt .) 

Madam  Fridorp  {soothingly). 
Go,  Lena,  go,  and  don't  come  back  until   1 
call  you. 

Wahrmund. 

{Furiously  to  Lefia,  who  still  stands  motionless^ 
looking  from  one  to  the  other.) 

Didn't  you  understand  ?  You  are  to  go,  and 
stay  outside  till  you  are  called. 

Lena. 

{Exit,  banging  the  door  violently  behind  her.) 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  6l 

Scene  V. 

Madam  Fridorp.    Wahrmund. 

"VVahrmund. 
{Still pacing  up  and  down.) 
It's  enough  to  drive  one  mad.     I  came  by  an 
earlier  train   in   order  to  talk  with  you   a  few 
minutes  alone — and  now  this  silly  gabbkr ! 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Come,  come,  don't  be  so  upset  by  it.     She'll 
stay  outside  now.     My  good    Lena  is  a  little 
forward.     We  have  always  had  a  great  deal  of 
patience  with  her. 

Wahrmund. 
I   am  patient,  too,   but   there   is   a  limit  to 
everything.     {Paces  up  and  down  several  times 
moi'e  and  then  sits  down  again.) 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Well,  never  mind,  it    won't    happen    again. 
So  you  thought  that  I  might  have  been  useful 
in  Heringsdorf. 


62  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Wahrmund  {significantly). 
Yes.     I    think  it  would   have   done   Bertha 
good  to  have  you  with  her. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
You   say  that  so  strangely — isn't  the  child 
well.? 

Wahrmund. 
Oh,  yes — that  is,  as  far  as  I  can  see.     Out- 
wardly there  is  no  evidence  that  anything  is 
the  matter.     But  perhaps  I  don't  understand 
it.     There  may  be  some  hidden  evil. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
You  alarm  me.     Speak  plainly — what  is  it  ? 

Wahrmund. 
You  need  not  be  alarmed,  mother.     For,  as 
I  said,  Bertha's  bodily  health  seems  excellent. 
But  for  some  time  a  change  has  taken  place  in 
her  which  I  can't  explain. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
A  change  !     In  what  does  it  consist  ? 

Wahrmund  {somewhat  hesitatingly). 
I  don't  know  exactly  where  to  begin.     Ber- 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  63 

tha   was   never   what    is    called    a    lively   per- 
son. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
No.     She  was  always  grave. 

Wahrmund. 
She  was  grave  and  silent,  but  pleasant.  I 
could  feel  that  she  cared  for  me,  that  her  heart 
was  mine.  She  was  interested  in  everything 
that  concerned  me.  She  even  asked  questions 
frequently  about  my  business  affairs,  though 
she  did  not  understand  them. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
How  should  she  ? 

Wahrmund. 
Of  course.     In  short,  she  evidently  regarded 
my  affairs  as  her  own. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
And  so  they  are. 

Wahrmund. 
I  think  so  too.     But  now  the  state  of  affairs 
is  entirely  different.     Bertha  is  constantly  out 
of  tem.per.     She  does  not  say  a  word  to  me  all 


64  THE   RIGHT   TO    LOVE. 

day ;  if  I  speak  to  her  she  scarcely  answers,  or 
irritably  flings  a  few  nervous  words  at  me ; 
she  never  looks  at  me  when  I  enter  or  leave 
the  room — will  you  believe  it,  mother  ?  I  can't 
get  her  to  cast  a  glance  at  me.  Is  this  living  ? 
Need  I  submit  to  it  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Well,  well,  I  hope  it  is  not  so  bad  as  you 
say.     Probably  you  exaggerate  a  little. 

Wahrmund. 
Exaggerate  ?  You  know  that  is  not  my 
way.  I  have  intentionally  avoided  making  my 
colors  too  dark.  I  assure  you,  mother,  I  don't 
know  what  I  ought  to  do.  When  I  ask: 
"  Bertha,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  answers, 
''Nothing.  What  should  be  the  matter?" 
*'  You  are  out  of  spirits,"  I  remark.  "  I  am  as 
I  can  be.  I  probably  have  no  reason  to  re- 
joice." "  What  troubles  you  ?  "  ''  Let  me 
alone."  And  that's  all  I  can  get  out  of  her.  I 
try  to  guess  her  wishes,  to  anticipate  them.  I 
offered  lately  to  increase  her  pocket  money. 
"  I  don't  spend  what  I  have  now."     That  was 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  6$ 

her  only  reply.  I  surprise  her  with  gifts  of 
jewelry — she  scarcely  thanks  me,  does  not  look 
at  them,  and  does  not  wear  them.  She  has 
the  handsomest  gowns,  and  yet  dresses  so 
plainly  that  she  actually  reflects  discredit  upon 
me. 

Madam  Fridorp. 

You  really  ought  not  to  blame  her  for  her 
simplicity. 

Wahrmund. 

Yes,  if  it  is  intended  to  annoy  me. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
That  is  imagination. 

Wahrmund. 
No,  mother,  believe  me,  it  is  no   imagina- 
tion. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
I    cannot    understand    it.      Perhaps   Bertha 
needs  more  amusement. 

Wahrmund. 
I   thought  so    too.     But    it    can't    be   that. 
Judge  for  yourself.     I  go  into  society  with  her, 
though   I  would  far  rather  stay  at  home.     I 


66  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

attend  the  theatre  with  her  five  nights  in  the 
week  to  see  the  craziest  plays,  whose  authors 
ought  to  have  their  ears  boxed.  There,  it  is 
true,  she  seems  to  be  happy  a  few  minutes.  I 
am  thoroughly  enraged,  but  I  stifle  it ;  for  I'm 
satisfied,  if  only  anything  pleases  her.  She 
goes  every  day  to  the  Museum  and  the  art 
exhibitions — I  don't  object.  True,  I  can't  ac- 
company her,  for  during  the  day  I  have  no 
time.  Besides,  I  don't  care  much  for  all  the 
modern  pictures — but  she  can  go.  She  has 
whatever  company,  too,  that  she  prefers.  Then 
she  returns  home  completely  exhausted,  and 
is  as  irritable  as  she  can  be.  Can't  be  touched 
without  gloves.  That  isn't  because  she  needs 
more  amusement? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
You  do  not  know  how  much  what  you  tell 
me  grieves  me. 

Wahrmund. 
I  have  no  wish  to  grieve  you,  mother;  I  am 
pouring  out  my  heart  to  you  because  I  hope 
that  you  will  be  able  to  change  the  condition 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  6y 

of  affairs.  1  don't  know  how  to  help  myself. 
Speak  a  sensible  word  to  Bertha.  Bring  her 
to  reason.  Good  heavens  !  I  certainly  am  not 
exacting  ;  she  really  does  not  have  a  hard  time 
with  me — all  I  want  is  peace.  I  desire  no 
grumbling  in  my  house.  After  working  and 
worrying  all  day,  I  want  to  see  a  pleasant  face 
at  home.  You  know,  mother,  that  we  have 
made  the  acquaintance  at  Heringsdorf  of  a 
Madam  Burkhard,  an  artist,  who  deceives  her 
husband  in  the  most  scandalous  way.  The 
man  notices  nothing,  or  pretends  he  does  not 
— his  wife  is  so  loving  to  him.  At  first  I  de- 
spised the  fellow,  then  I  laughed  at  him  ;  but  at 
last  there  were  moments  when  I  almost  asked 
myself  whether  it  is  not  more  desirable  for  the 
husband  to  have  a  smooth,  ever-smiling  sinner, 
than  an  intolerably  peevish  angel  of  virtue. 

Madam  Fridorp  (offended). 
How  can  you  even  mention  Bertha  in  the 

same  breath  with  such  a  person ? 

Wahrmund. 
Don't  be  angry,  mother.     You  know  how  I 


68  THE    RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

reverence  Bertha's  character — she  is  your 
daughter  {he  kisses  her  hand) — but  the  compar- 
ison forced  itself  upon  me. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Such  a  comparison 

Wahrmund. 
Besides — it  is  not  so  much  for  my  own  sake. 
I  am  a  man,  and  can  endure  everything.  But 
it  is  on  account  of  others.  The  servants,  our 
acquaintances,  the  neighbors,  must  see  it. 
People  will  talk  about  us.  I  won't  have  it. 
No  gossip,  no  scandal.  That  is  horrible  to  me. 
And  the  children.  Especially  the  children. 
Fortunately  Louise  notices  nothing  yet.  But 
Bessie  is  a  sensible  child.  She  sees  that  her 
mother  sits  at  the  table  in  silence,  looking  into 
her  plate,  and  treats  me  as  if  I  were  empty  air. 
She  looks  surprised  and  troubled.  Mother, 
this  must  not  be.  Such  a  spectacle  will  poison 
her  childhood  and  darken  her  whole  life.  She 
must  have  no  memories  of  discord  in  her  par- 
ents' house.  If  there  is  no  other  way,  I  would 
rather  send   Bertha  away  to   travel  with   the 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  69 

children  or  place  the  little  girls  in  a  boarding- 
school.  They  must  not  see  their  mother  quar- 
rel with  their  father. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
But    how    has    this    happened  ?     You    have 
usually  agreed  with  each  other  so  well. 

Wahrmund. 
Do  I  know?  {Rises  and  goes  to  the  window. 
In  a  subdued  voice — slozuly)  I  can  only  tell 
you  that  matters  have  been  especially  bad 
during  the  last  few  weeks.  Bertha  even  ap- 
pears to  feel  a  personal  abhorrence  of  me.  It 
is  very  difficult  for  me  to  speak  of  this,  but  I 
ought  to  confide  everything  to  you ;  nay,  I 
must.  Bertha  repulses  me — after  eight  years 
of  wedlock — just  think 

Madam  Fridorp  {nods  sadly). 

Wahrmund. 
If   I    entreat,    she    says  :    "  Are    you    not 
ashamed  to  beg?  "     If  I  grow  vehement — you 
understand  that  we  cannot  always  control  our- 
selves— she  becomes  furious,  declares  that  she 


70  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

is  neither  an  Oriental  slave,  nor — oh  !  I  don't 
know  what — spare  me  the  repetition  of  it. 
Perhaps  she  will  tell,  if  you  question  her. 
What  shall  I  do  now  ?  I  don't  know  any 
course  to  pursue. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
I  cannot  explain  it.     There  must  be  some 
illness.     Perhaps  the  child  is  nervous. 

Wahrmund. 
I  have  thought  of  that,  too.     I  was  going 
to  consult  our  physician.     But  it  seemed   as 
if  I  ought  first  to  tell  you. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
I  should  not  like  to  vex  you — but  are  you 
perfectly  sure   that    there   is  not    some  little 
fault  on  your  side  ? 

Wahrmund  {wounded). 
Oh,  mother  ! 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Are    you    not    a   little   vehement — a    little 
irritated  ? 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  *J\ 

Wahrmund. 
I   am   not   aware  of    it.     You   know   that  I 
have  a  quiet  nature 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Yet   you  were    very  angry  with   Lena   just 
now. 

Wahrmund  (sharply). 

I  see  that  you  are  taking  Bertha's  part  in 
advance.  I  ought  to  have  expected  it.  Of 
course  I  am  the  culprit.  It's  always  the  lamb 
that  muddies  the  water. 

Madam  Fridorp. 

You  see,  now  you  are  getting  roused  again. 
I  really  do  not  wish  to  vex  you.  I  am  only 
trying  to  find  an  explanation  for  something 
which  is  incomprehensible  to  me,  so  it  is 
natural  to  ask  whether  you  may  not 

Wahrmund. 
Well,  it  is  certainly  possible  that  the  fault 
is  mine  ;  ask  her  of  what  she  complains. 
That  is  why  I  have  come  to  you.  She  will 
surely  be  frank  with  her  mother,  and  you  will 
then  tell  me  what  troubles  her.     If  it  depends 


72  THE    RIGHT   TO    LOVE. 

Upon  me,  there  shall  be  a  change.  That  I 
promise  you.  I  want  peace,  and  the  children 
must  have  peace  and  happiness  about  them. 
I  should  almost  be  glad  if  it  were  proved  that 
I  am  the  delinquent.  Then  I  should  under- 
stand it.  Now  I  cannot  explain  Bertha's 
conduct.  And  it  is  very  uncomfortable  to 
confront  something  absolutely  incomprehen- 
sible. {A  bell  rings.)  There  they  are  al- 
ready. Now,  mother,  you  know  the  state  of 
affairs.  Do  what  you  can,  I  beg  you.  I  hope 
you  can  set  everything  straight. 

Madam  Fridorp  {presses  his  hand). 
Rely  upon  me. 

Scene  VI. 

The  Same.    Bertha.    Bessie.    Louise. 

Lena. 

Bertha  enters  with  Bessie  a7id  Louise^  Lena 
stops  at  the  door  and  casts  timid  side  glances  at 
Wahrmmid.  Bertha  and  the  tzvo  children  rtin 
quickly  to  Madam  Fridorp,  who  has  risen,  and 
embrace  her.  Wahrmnnd  stands  at  the  first 
window,  watching  the  group. 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  73 

Bertha. 
How  do  you   do,  mamma  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
How  do  you  do,  child  ?     Well,  here  you  are 
again.     {Looks  at  her  closely^ 

Bertha. 
Why  do  you  scan  me  so  closely  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
You  look  perfectly  well. 
Bertha. 
Why   shouldn't    I  ?      There's    nothing   the 
matter  with  me. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Don't  boast,  child  ;    don't  boast. 

Louise. 
I've  brought  you  a  shell,  grandma.     {Gives 
it  to  her.)     I  dug  it  up  for  you  myself  on  the 
beach,  with  the  spade. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
{Kisses  her  and  takes  the  shelly 
Why,    the    sweet    little    darling.       Did    she 
think   of    her   grandma  ?      Thank   you,    dear 


74  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

child,   thank   you  ;    it's  a  wonderfully    pretty 
shell. 

Louise  (eagerly). 
Yes,  grandma ;  and  a  boy  wanted   to  take 
it    away  from    me,    but    I    wouldn't    let    him 
have  it. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
That  was  a  naughty  boy,  Lulie. 

Louise. 
He  was  a  very  naughty  boy. 

Wahrmund. 
{Who  meanivhile  has  beeji  kissing  Bessie,) 
There,  I  must  go  now. 

Bertha. 
(  Who  has  been  watching  Louise  with  a  smile, 
becomes  grave  again.) 

Madam  Fridorp. 
So  you  really  will  not  stay  to  supper  ? 

Wahrmund. 
I  cannot.     I  have  urgent  business  in  town. 
I'll    see    you    again    soon,    mother.      {Shakes 
hands    with    her.       To    Bertha^      And    don't 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  75 

come  home  too  late,  please,  on  account  of 
the  children.  The  evenings  are  already  per- 
ceptibly cool.     {Takes  his  hat  and  cane.) 

Bertha  {carelessly). 
I  know,  I  know. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
{Moves  to  go  with  him.) 

Wahrmund. 
No,  stay  here,  mother.     {Exit.) 

Scene  VII. 

The  Same  {without  Wahrmund). 

Lena. 
{Hastily  moves  aside  to  let  Wahrmund  pass, 
then    comes   i^ito   the   room   and  stands  before 
Bertha,  who  is  taking  off  her  hat  and  cloak. 
Lena  carries  both  to  a  table) 

Bertha. 
I  have  brought  you  something  too,  my  good 
Lena.     A  silver  bracelet.     Here.     {She  gives  it 
to  her) 


'J^  THE   RIGHT   TO    LOVE. 

Lena. 

{Looks  at  the  bracelet  with  delight,  seizes 
the  hand  of  Bertha,  who  struggles  against  her, 
and  kisses  it.) 

You  have  always  remained  our  darling  treas- 
ure. You  are  always  my  kind  little  mistress, 
whose  baby  dresses  I  washed.  But  Mr. 
Wahrmund — I  don't  know  what  ailed  him  just 
now — he  stormed  at  me  so — my  dead  master 
never  did  it.  And  he  was  a  councillor.  And 
I  didn't  deserve  it  either.     {She  wipes  her  eyes.) 

Bertha. 
( Turns  to  Madam  Fridorp  in  surprise ?j 
What  was  it? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Oh,  nothing  !     Be  quiet,  Lena  ;  there  was  no 
harm    meant.     You    mustn't   keep    coming  in 
when  visitors  are  here. 

Lena. 
Mr.  Wahrmund  is  no  stranger. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
It's  just  the  same.     Go  now,  Lena. 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  ;/ 

Lena. 
Come,  little  folks,  come  into  the  garden;  I'll 
show  you  some  beautiful   asters  and  dahlias. 
(Exit  with  the  children^ 

Scene  VIII. 

Madam   Fridorp.   Bertha. 

Bertha. 
What  happened  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Oh,  Wahrmund  was  a  little  hasty.     He  gave 
Lena  to  understand,  somewhat    harshly,  that 
she  was   interrupting   us,  and  you  know  how 
sensitive  the  old  woman  is. 

Bertha. 

But  what  an  idea,  to  speak  angrily  to  an  old 
servant !  Especially  when  it  is  not  in  one's 
own  house. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Why,  Bertha,  do  you  make  a  distinction  be- 
tween your  house  and  mine.^ 


78  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Bertha. 
It  is  a  sad  want  of  tact  to  play  the  master 
here. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
How  severely  you  judge  him  ! 

Bertha  (impatiently). 
Oh — let  us  talk  about  something  else. 

Madam  Fridorp  {gravely). 
No,  my  child,  we  will  keep  to  this  subject. 
You  treat  your  husband  strangely. 

Bertha  (startled). 
Do  you  think  so  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Yes.     I  do  think  so.     (A  short  pause)    And 
he  thinks  so  too. 

Bertha. 
How  do  you  know  that  ?     Has  he  told  you 
so  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Yes. 

Bertha. 
Indeed?     How  did  he  happen  to  do  so  ? 


THE   RIGHT   TO    LOVE.  79 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Frankly — he  has  complained  of  you. 

Bertha. 
Behind  my  back?     To   slander   me   to    my 
mother  ?     Fie,  how  cowardly  ! 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Why,  child,    you    are    crazy.     He   behaved 
very  properly  and  sensibly.     To  whom  should 
he  pour  out  his  heart,  if  not  to  me? 

Bertha. 
To   whom  ?     To    me.     If   he  has  any  com- 
plaint to  make  he  ought  to  tell  me  so  frankly, 
like  a  man.     I  shall  know  how  to  answer  him. 

Madam   Fridorp. 
That    is    exactly  what  he  wished  to  avoid. 
And    he    did    perfectly  right.     If   you   are  so 
angry  with  me,  what  would  you  do  to  him? 
You  would  certainly  scratch  his  eyes  out. 

Bertha  {irritably). 
Well,  if   you  can    believe  that  of  me — you 
have  certainly  allowed  yourself  to  be   turned 
against  your  own  child. 


80  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Don't  talk  nonsense.  I  am  your  mother, 
and  you  are  my  darling  Bertha.  But  for  that 
very  reason  your  irritability  pains  me.  You 
must  keep  the  peace.  What  complaint  have 
you  to  make  against  your  husband  ? 

Bertha. 
I    have    not    complained  of  him,  but  he  of 
me.     What  charge  has  he  brought? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
You    are  unkind  to  him ;   you  do  not  look 
at  him. 

Bertha  {laughing  nervously). 
That    is   true.     What    am    I    to    do?     Cast 
languishing  glances  at  him  ?     Ogle  him  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
I  do  not  say  that,  though    he    does   some- 
thing very  like  it. 

Bertha. 
He    shows    sufificient    lack    of    good    taste. 
He  serves  as  a  warning  example  to  me. 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  8 1 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Don't  make  foolish  jests,  Bertha ;  this  is  no 
time    for  them.      He   says   that   you    do    not 
speak  to  him,  and  scarcely  answer. 

Bertha  {impatiently). 
Well,  mamma,  if  you  insist  upon  knowing 
the  whole  story — it  is  possible  that  I  am  very 
silent.  What  am  I  to  talk  about?  Business 
affairs?  I  care  no  more  for  them  than  for 
last  year's  weather  predictions.  What  else? 
He  has  no  taste  for  anything  except  his 
athletics  and  feats  of  strength.  They  don't 
interest  me.  Every  opinion  I  express  he 
considers  exaggerated  and  absurd,  and  meets 
with  a  stolid,  narrow-minded  Philistine  oppo- 
sition. If  a  play  affects  me,  and  I  wish  to 
speak  of  it,  I  receive  the  answer:  *' Oh,  non- 
sense, crazy  trash!"  He  does  not  read  the 
books  which  occupy  my  attention,  art  bores 
him — what  can  I  do  except  keep  my  thoughts 
to  myself? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
That  is  very  arrogant,  Bertha.     Wahrmund 
6 


82  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

has  a  great  deal  of  sound  sense  and  experience 
of  life.  He  is  under  no  obligation  to  be  a  his- 
torian of  art  and  literature. 

Bertha. 

And  I'm  under  no  obligation  to  act  as 
speechmaker  at  table,  it  seems  to  me.  (Short 
pause ;  then  vehemently^  But  what  does  he 
really  want  ?  I  keep  his  house,  I  care  for  the 
children;  when  he  comes  home  he  finds  the 
meals  ready  and  his  favorite  dishes ;  I  worry 
over  the  servants,  I  rack  my  brains  daily  about 
the  bill  of  fare — I  think  I  do  my  entire  duty.    , 

Madam  Fridorp. 
No,  Bertha,  that  is  not  all.     A  housekeeper 
does  the  same.     Men  do  not  marry  for  that. 

Bertha  {suddenly). 
Mamma,  why  did  you  marry  me? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
A  strange  question.     You  were  twenty — we 
were  living  on  my  widow's  pension — you  had 
not  a  penny 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  83 

Bertha. 
I  was  a  healthy  human  being — I  had  brains, 
a  heart — one  can  get  along  with  them. 

Madam  Fridorp. 

Indeed  ?     And  suppose  I  had  died  like  your 

poor  father  ?     Then  you  would  have  been  alone 

in   the  world.     What  would  have  become  of 

you  ? 

Bertha. 

I  should  have  worked.  I  should  have  stud- 
ied medicine.  Perhaps  I  might  now  have 
been  independent. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Wahrmund  is  certainly  right  when  he  thinks 
you  eccentric.  The  world  is  not  made  for 
such  opinions.  A  penniless  girl  is  a  thousand 
times  more  apt  to  go  to  ruin  than  to  obtain 
an  independent  position.     A  girl  must  marry. 

Bertha. 

Yes,    so   long    as    mothers   take    that  view, 

woman's  position  cannot  improve.     A  woman 

is  a  human  being.     We  have  the  right  to  live 

for  ourselves.     But  we  are  thrown  at  the  head 


84  THE   RIGHT   TO    LOVE. 

of  the  first  man  who  comes  along.     Pie  is  good 
enough  for  us. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
The  first  man  who  comes  along !     That  cer- 
tainly was  not  your  case,  child.     You  obtained 
a  kind,  handsome,  prosperous  husband 

Bertha. 

Who  does  not  suit  me,  and  whom  I  do  not 
suit. 

Madam  Fridorp. 

Indeed  ?  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  heard 
of  it.  You  did  not  think  so  when  you  were 
engaged  to  Wahrmund.  You  were  as  happy 
in  it  as  I. 

Bertha  {vehemently). 

What  does  an  inexperienced,  foolish  girl 
know  ?  People  are  always  telling  her  that  she 
must  marry,  that  it  is  horrible  to  be  an  old 
maid — the  greatest  disgrace,  the  greatest  mis- 
fortune. She  sees  her  mother  fretting  and 
grieving — of  course  she  wishes  to  relieve  her 
from  anxiety.  Then  a  man  comes.  She  con- 
stantly hears  ;  A  brilliant  match  !     A  rich  hus- 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  85 

band  !  A  great  piece  of  good  fortune  !  The 
mother  is  happy  to  get  rid  of  her  daughter  so 
well — and  the  girl  takes  him. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
My  child,  you  are  very  ungrateful.  Your 
mother  did  not  wish  to  get  rid  of  you.  She 
desired  to  secure  your  happiness,  and,  accord- 
ing to  human  judgment,  the  conditions  for  it 
existed  in  your  marriage. 

Bertha. 
The  conditions  for  it  never  exist  when  the 
choice  is  not  freely  made,  and  the  heart  does 
not  speak.     Marriage  is  then  no  joy. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Marriage  is  not  solely  a  joy. 

Bertha. 
Indeed  ?     What  is  it  then  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
A  duty,  a  social  mission. 

Bertha. 
Something  like   obligatory  military  service 
translated  into  the  female  gender  ?     To  be  rid- 


86  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

died  with  shot  for  your  king  and  country,  and 
fall  shouting  :  ''Huzza!"     No,  I  thank  you. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
I  believe  you  have  become  a  Socialist,  Ber- 
tha. 

Bertha. 
That  wouldn't  be  the  worst  thing  that  could 
happen.       All    discontented    people    become 
Socialists. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Yes  ;  but  why  are  you  discontented  ? 

Bertha. 
Oh,  let  that  pass,  mamma.     With  your  idea 
of  marriage — duty — social  mission — you  would 
not  understand  me. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Another  case  of  the  child  being  wiser  than 
the  parent. 

Bertha. 
That  is  true.     If  I  should  say  to  you  :  Life 
has  not  only  duties,   but  rights,   I   should   of 
course  be  considered  eccentric  again. 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  8/ 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Rights?     What  do   you  mean? 

Bertha. 
I  mean  the  right  of  satisfying  the  heart. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Of  course  you  have  that  right.  But  you 
possess  something  still  better  than  the  right. 
You  have  the  thing  itself.  You  have  your 
husband,  your  children — what  satisfaction  does 
your  heart  still  lack? 

Bertha. 

Suppose  that  does  not  content  the  heart  ? 
Suppose  it  needs  still  more  in  order  to  be  hap- 
py? Have  we  not  the  right  to  strive  for  hap- 
piness, even  though  we  must  disregard  so-called 
duty  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 

My  child,  you  doubtless  think  that  what 
you  are  saying  is  the  very  newest  philosophy. 
But  it  is  as  old  as  the  world.  In  the  decade 
of  the  forties,  when  I  was  a  very  young  girl, 
I   read  it  in   George   Sand's   novels.      That's 


88  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

fifty  years  ago,  and  it  was  nonsense  then. 
There  is  no  happiness  outside  of  duty;  who- 
ever tells  you  the  contrary  is  deceiving  you. 
In  the  fulfilment  of  your  duty  you  will  find  all 
that  your  heart  needs  for  its  satisfaction.  Of 
course  if  you  heed  all  your  whims  and  fancies, 
and  cherish  them,  you  can  easily  imagine  that 
you  lack  this  thing  or  that.  But  you  must 
not.  A  married  woman  ought  to  renounce 
fantastic  dreams.     She  can  if  she  chooses. 

Bertha. 
And  suppose  she  cannot? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Whoever    cannot,  ought    not    to    marry  at 

all. 

Bertha. 
Mamma,  why  did  you  marry  me  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
I  have  already  told  you  once.     Besides — if 
I  had  not,  wherein  would  you  be  any  better 

off  to-day? 

Bertha. 

I    should    be    free,   and    if    the    right    man 

came 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  89 

Madam  Fridorp. 

The    right    man  ?      How    do    you    imagine 

him  ? 

Bertha. 

A  man  who  loves  me  and  whom  I  love,  not 

from   duty,    but   with    rapture.     A    man  who 

understands  me,  who  inspires  me,  who  unfolds 

my  intellect,  to  whom  I  look  up 

Madam  Fridorp. 
In  short,  the  fairy  prince.     My  dear  Bertha, 
every  girl  expects  him,  but  he  never  comes. 

Bertha. 
But  suppose  he  does? 

Madame  Fridorp. 
I  waited  for  him  till  I  was  thirty-four  years 
old,  but  he  did  not  appear.  Then  when  your 
father  proposed  to  me,  I  was  well  satisfied 
with  him.  He  was  no  fairy  prince.  We 
were  not  romantically  in  love  with  each  other. 
But  we  were  good,  loyal  friends,  and  remained 
so  until  I  closed  his  eyes  in  death.  That  is 
the  right  man.  If  you  had  desired  to  wait  for 
the  fairy  prince,  he  would  never  have  come. 


90  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Bertha  {softly). 
Suppose  he  has  come  ? 

{The  following  must  be  very  quickly  acted.) 

Madam  Fridorp. 
{Stares  at  her  suddenly^ 

Child 

Bertha. 
What? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
{With  i7icr easing  excitement.) 

Child ! 

Bertha  {timidly). 
Mamma? 

Madam  Fridorp. 

Something  is  happening 

Bertha  {remains  silent). 

Madam  Fridorp. 
You — you  are  thinking  of  some  one. 

Bertha. 
( Throws  herself  into  Madam  Fridorfs  arms 
and  hides  her  face  07i  her  boso?n.) 

Madam  Fridorp. 
For  heaven's  sake — what  am   I  to  learn — 


THE   RIGHT   TO    LOVE.  9 1 

how  was  it  possible — speak.     {Rushes   to  the 
door  and  bolts  it). 

Bertha. 
He    is    our    neighbor — lives    on    the    story 
above  us — he  obtained  an  introduction  and  is 
passionately  in  love  with  me. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
And  you  have  the  courage  to  tell  me  so? 

Bertha. 
Shall  I  not  be  frank  to  my  own  mother  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Go    on — the    whole    truth — what   has   hap- 
pened ? 

Bertha. 

We  were  in  Heringsdorf 

Madam  Fridorp. 
And  does  Wahrmund  notice  nothing? 

Bertha. 
I  don't  know — nor  do  I  care 


Madam  Fridorp. 
You  are  out  of  your  senses. 


92  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Bertha. 
He  shall   know  it.     I  will   make    no  secret 
of  the  fact. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Bertha,  you  are  mad  ! 

Bertha. 
Why  ?     Because  I  will  not  dissemble  and 
deceive  ?     Or  do  you  also  recommend  cheat- 
ing and  hypocrisy  ? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
What    has    come   over   you,   Bertha  ?      But 
who   is   the   scoundrel  who   has   turned   your 
brain  ? 

Bertha. 
Don't  call  him  a  scoundrel,  mamma. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
He  is  a  scoundrel.  An  honorable  man  does 
not  pay  attention  to  married  women.  What 
does  he  want  of  you  ?  Probably  he  has  a 
great  contempt  for  you,  or  he  would  not  ex- 
pect you  to  forget  your  duty. 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  93 

Bertha. 
You  wrong  him.     His  intentions  are  serious. 

Madam  Fridorp. 

What  does  that  mean  ? 

Bertha. 
He  wishes  me  to  be  his  through  life. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
And  you  believe  that  ? 

Bertha. 
He  swears  it.     Why  should  he  deceive  me? 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Even  were  it  true,  a  woman  cannot  forsake 
her  husband  and  children. 

Bertha. 
I   shall   not    forsake  my  children.     Barden- 
holm  loves  them. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Bardenholm  ? 

Bertha. 
That  is  his  name.     Under  his  guidance  their 


94  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

intellectual    development  would    be  very  dif- 
ferent. 

Madam  Fridorp. 

And  do  you  believe  that  Wahrmund  would 
let  you  have  the  children  ? 

Bertha. 
He  knows  that  they  will  have  the  best  train- 
ing with  me. 

Madam  Fridorp. 

And  you  could  make  up  your  mind  so  coolly 
to  break  your  husband's  heart  ? 

Bertha. 
He  will  console  himself. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Silence,  unhappy  child !  I  will  hear  no 
more.  I  forbid  you  to  see  this  unprincipled 
man  again.  Do  you  hear?  This  must  end. 
ril  com^e  to  town  to-morrow  or  the  day  after. 
You  must  take  a  journey — a  long  journey. 
Wahrmund  is  prepared  for  it.  I  will  go  with 
you,  old  and  feeble  as  I  am.  You  must  be 
your  former  self.  You  must  recover  your 
senses. 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  95 

Bertha. 
Mamma,  if   you  would    see  Bardenholm,  if 
you  would  listen  to  him 

Madam  Fridorp. 

You  dare  not 

Bertha. 
It  is  useless  to  part  us.     It  is  too  late. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
[Putting  her  hand  on  her  lips) 
Hush,  unhappy  child,  hush  !  Even  if — you 
are  not  accountable.  In  your  present  condi- 
tion no  blame  can  be  imputed  to  you.  You 
are  ill.  Even  if  Wahrmund  should  learn — he 
will  understand.     Oh,  God  !  oh,  God  ! 

Lena  [shaking  the  door  outside^ 
Is  it  locked  ? 

Madam  Fridorp  {excitedly). 
What  is  it  ? 

Lena. 
Open  it. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
What  do  you  want  ? 


96  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Lena. 
It's  getting  cold  for  the  children. 

Madam  Fridorp. 
Go,  Bertha,  open  it.     My  limbs  seem  para- 
lyzed.    {Bertha  goes   to  the  door.)     The  poor 

children  ! 

( The  curiam  falls.) 


ACT  III. 

Room  in  Bardenholm  s  apartments.  Door  at 
the  right  and  at  the  back.  Mantelpiece  at  the 
left.  On  the  wall  above,  a  group  of  weapons — 
rapier,  fencing-mask,  revolver.  In  the  right- 
hand  corner  of  the  fire-place,  a  Turkish  divan. 
Arm-chairs,  smo king-table,  with  box  of  cigars, 
rack  for  pipes.  At  the  right,  in  front,  a  cottage 
piano  with  a  mirror  above  it.  hi  the  centre,  a 
drawing-room  table  with  books  and  albums.  In 
the  rear,  an  etagere  with  books,  bric-a-brac,  li- 
queur-stand a7id  glasses,  tumblers,  framed  photo- 
graphs. 

Scene  I. 
Bardenholm.  Dr.  Buttner. 

Buttner,  half  reclining  on  the  divan.  Bar  deft- 
holm  standing  before  him  with  his  back  to  the 

mantelpiece. 

Bardenholm. 

{Offering  him  the  box  of  cigars?} 

Light  a  cigar,  Buttner.    And  smoke  it  rever- 

7 


98  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

ently.     I  give  these  only  to  friends  who  are 
suffering  recent  love  troubles. 

Buttner. 
{Chooses  a  cigar,  lights  it,  arid  smokes  silently^ 

Bardenholm. 
[After  a  pause,  during  which  he  has  watched 
hint.) 

At  least  sigh,  if  you  don't  speak.  It  is  a 
relief. 

Buttner. 
It's  easy  for  you  to  laugh. 

Bardenholm. 
And  still  easier  for  you.     Only  you  won't 
perceive  it.     {Pause.)    Will  you  take  a  glass  of 
Chartreuse  ?     It  really  belongs  with  this  cigar. 

Buttner. 
Thank  you,  with  pleasure. 

Bardenholm. 

{Brings  the  Chartreuse  and  two  glasses  from 
the  e'tagere,  arid  fills  thejn.     Both  drink}) 

Now  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip.  We  mustn't 
give  way  for  such  a  foolish  affair. 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  99 

Biittner. 
Such  an  infamous  creature  ! 

Bardenholm. 
Bravo  !     You  said  that  just  like  Salvini. 

Biittner  {rises  and  seizes  his  hat). 
If  you  constantly  make  these  bad  jokes 

Bardenholm. 
Oh,  come!     Don't  take  offence  so  quickly. 
(  Takes  away  his  hat  and  pushes  hi7n  back  on  the 
divan.)      Seriously   then — has    Madam    Burk- 
hard  broken  with  you  ? 

Biittner. 
Brutally,     i    expostulated   with    her   about 
little  Hergenrath. 

Bardenholm. 
That  was  a  strange  idea.     Surely  you  were 
not  jealous? 

Buttner. 

Well !    perhaps   not    really   jealous — .     But 

she    made    a   show   of   herself  with    him    and 

rendered  me  ridiculous.     Besides,  I  could  not 

keep  silence.     But  at  my  first  v/ords  she  ex- 


lOO  THE    RIGHT  TO    LOVE. 

claimed:  ''What  do  you  want?  To  preach 
morality  to  me?  My  husband  can  manage 
that  better.  Besides  I  will  confine  myself  to 
no  one  admirer."  "  If  you  would  only  confine 
yourself  to  one,''  I  replied.  That  wasn't  bad, 
was  it?  She  laughed  scornfully  and  said: 
'■^  Mo7i  cher,  you  are  beginning  to  be  terribly 
tiresome.  Let  us  part  in  peace  before  you 
grow  utterly  rusty." 

Bardenholm. 
Very  acute,  that  woman. 

Biittner. 

You  understand  that  I  was  furious. 

Bardenholm. 
Of  course. 

Biittner. 
I  left  her.     When  I  came  back  in  the  after- 
noon  

Bardenholm. 
What?     You  went  there  again? 

Biittner. 
Oh,  I  thought  it  was  only  a  whim.     I  was 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  loi 

going  In  as  usual  when  the  maid  came  forward 
and  said,  "  My  mistress  isn't  in."  I  heard  her 
at  the  same  instant  talking  and  laughing  in 
the  studio!  "You  are  joking,"  I  said  to  the 
girl,  grasping  the  handle  of  the  door.  But 
the  serpent,  whom  I  have  warmed  with  my 
fees,  planted  herself  in  front  of  it,  saying 
insolently:  "My  mistress  isn't  at  home  to 
you,  and  says  expressly  that  you're  not  to 
trouble  yourself  any  more  about  her."  Well, 
what  do  you  think  of  that? 

Bardenholm. 

Excellent,    old    fellow,  excellent.     You    are 

an  ungodly  man.     If  you  had  a  spark  of  faith 

in  you,  you  would  be  uttering  a  thanksgiving. 

Biittner. 

For  being  sacrificed  to  a  Hergenrath  ! 

Bardenholm. 
Little    Hergenrath    is    by  no   means  a  bad 
fellow.     Besides,  I  should  never  be  jealous  of 
a  successor.     Only  of  a  predecessor. 
Biittner. 
But  I  love  this  miserable  creature. 


102  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Bardenholm. 
Biittner,  you  are  using  the  language  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  Does  a  son  of  the  nineteenth 
century  express  himself  in  such  an  old-fash- 
ioned way?  {Imitating  him.)  ''I  love  this 
miserable  creature."  A  genuine  Minnesinger. 
Such  words  should  always  be  sung.  Come, 
say   it    again.      I'll    accompany   you    on    the 

piano. 

Biittner. 

You  are  a  heartless  miscreant.     You  don't 

know  how  one  feels  after  wearing  a  woman's 

uniform  two  years. 

Bardenholm. 
Yes,  I  know  it  well.     Such  things  become  a 
pleasant  custom — as  Goethe  would  say.     But 
after  two  years  one  must  at  last  think  of  being 
transferred  to  another  regiment. 

Biittner. 
I  had  not  yet  grown  weary  of  the  garrison. 

Bardenholm. 
That's    just    why    I    blame   you.      Madam 
Burkhard  is  beginning  to  age. 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  103 

Biittner. 
Which,    you  see,   does   not   prevent  various 
people  from  circling  around  her. 

Bardenholm. 
Of  course.     She  is  fashionable,  famous,  and 
especially  does   not    lack    readiness    to    make 
advances.      You    won't    take   offence    at    my 
frankness  ? 

Biittner. 
You  are  a  strange  comforter. 

Bardenholm. 
Just  the  one  you  need,  old  fellow.  Your 
melancholy  tone  is  base  ingratitude  to  your 
lucky  star.  Man,  don't  you  know  that  in 
love,  as  well  as  in  war,  the  first  thing  to  be 
considered  is  to  secure  a  line  of  retreat?  The 
great  difficulty  in  such  relations  is  always  to 
get  clear  of  them.  You  now  have  the  unde- 
served good  fortune  of  not  falling  upon  the 
usual  burdock,  but  a  clever  woman,  who 
sm.oothly  wheels  away  from  you ;  yet  you 
still  make  an  ado.  You  merit  being  con- 
demned to  lifelong  hard   labor   in   the  service 


104  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

of  a  beautiful  woman.  But  now  I'll  be  serious 
again,  for  I  really  sympathize  with  you  when 
I  see  you  so  melancholy.  What  do  you 
really  desire  ?  What  could  have  been  the  end 
of  this  relation  ?     May  I  be  perfectly  frank  ? 

Biittner. 
Still  franker  than  before  ?     I  am  curious. 

Bardenholm. 
I  assure  you  that  I  have  long  wanted  to 
discuss  the  matter  with  you.  {Sits  down  on 
the  divan  beside  him.)  You  had  completely 
lost  the  perspective  of  the  matter.  The 
woman  is  an  over-ripe  orange.  She  is  rich, 
while  you  are  poor — it  was    really  becoming 

r 
>• 

Biittner  {fiiriously). 
Who  would  have  dared 

Bardenholm. 
It's  useless  to  be  angry.  We  must  always 
expect  gossip.  An  affair  with  a  woman  who 
is  the  fashion  is  all  very  well.  But  it  must  be 
as  brief  as  an  anecdote,  or  the  whole  effect  is 
lost.  ^ 


THE  RIGHT  TO  LOVE.  105 

Biittner, 

The  effect?     What  effect? 

Bardenhohn. 
Don't   be   so    foolish.      You    have   no    rich 
uncle,  so  far  as  I  know. 

Biittner. 
Unfortunately. 

Bardenholm. 
Of  course  your  object  is  to  make  a  good 
match — you  are  now  thirty — you  must  stick  to 
that  in  earnest.  Your  affair  with  Madam  Burk- 
hard  has  given  you  prestige.  Only  it  lasted 
entirely  too  long.  It  was  quite  time  that  it 
should  come  to  an  end.  Now  mix  diligently 
among  truffles  and  champagne  people.  Get 
invitations  to  the  houses  of  commercial  mag- 
nates and  choose  among  the  daughters  of  the 
land.  But  you  must  not  appear  as  the  Knight 
of  the  Sorrowful  Countenance ;  for  if  you 
yourself  betray  that  it  was  she  who  gave  the 
walking  ticket,  you  will  not  hypnotize  wealthy 
heiresses — they  will  laugh  at  you.  Do  you 
understand  ? 


I06  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Buttner. 
I  abhor  all  women. 

Bardenholm. 
Nonsense.      They    are    the    very   prettiest 
things  which  nature  ever  invented.     Only  we 
must   know  how   to    make    the    right    use   of 
them. 

(A  knock  at  tJie  door  on  the  right.) 

Buttner. 
Isn't  somebody  knocking? 

{Both  listen.     The  kfiock  is  repeated.) 

Bardenholm  (starting  up). 
Yes,  indeed.     It's  madness.     You'll    excuse 
me,  Buttner,  won't  you? 

Buttner. 
A  private  visitor. 

Bardenholm  (nods). 
And  I  expect   Kalwert   in   fifteen   minutes. 
But  it  can't  be  helped. 

Buttner  (going). 
Oh,  women,  women  ! 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  10/ 

Bardenholm. 
(Accompanies  Bilttner   to   the  door,  bolts  it, 
then  hurries  to  the  door  at  the  right  and  opens 
it) 

Scene  II. 

Bardenholm.    Bertha. 

Bertha. 

{Enters   closely  veiled) 

Bardenholm. 
[Bolting  the  door,  embracing  Bertha) 
Bertha  !     At  this  hour  ! 

Bertha. 
Am  I  interrupting  you? 

Bardenholm. 
Never  !     But  how  imprudent !     Biittner  was 
just  with  me.     I  had  scarcely  time  to  get  him 
out.     You  really  must  be  more  cautious. 

Bertha. 

Cautious?     Oh,  I  am  thoroughly  tired  of  it. 

{Sinks  zvearily  07i  the  divan.     Bardenholm  takes 

off  her  hat  and  veil  and  carries  them   to  the 

draiving-room  table,  kisses  her  on  the  hair).     I 


I08  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

seem  to  myself  so  contemptible  when  I  go  in 
and  out  secretly,  obliged  to  glance  around  to 
watch  whether  any  one  sees  me.  Why  must 
I  tremble  before  every  eye  ?     Why  ? 

Bardenholm. 

{Sitting  down  by  her  side  and  taking  her  hand, 
tenderly^ 

Because  it  is  the  necessary  condition  of  our 
happiness.     Our  connection 

Bertha. 
No.     Not  that  horrible  word  !     You   must 
never  use  it. 

Bardenholm  {smiling). 
You  little  touch-me-not.     What  is  there  in  a 

word  ? 

Bertha. 
There  are  words  which  contain  a  universe 
of  shame. 

Bardenholm. 
Very  well.     I  will  erase  it  from  my  vocabu- 
lary.    What  I  desired  to  say  is  this  :  I  would 
far   rather  live  with  you    on    a  desert  island 
where  we  were  the   only  human   beings  and 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  I09 

could  rejoice  in  our  love  in  the  presence  of  the 
sun,  the  blue  sky,  and  the  sea.  But  we  are 
not  exactly  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robinson  Crusoe. 
We  are  residents  of  the  capital,  and  surround- 
ed by  a  thousand  watchful  eyes.  Happily  our 
position  is  not  made  difficult  for  us.  Only  we 
must  not  defy  chance. 

Bertha. 
Tell  me,  Otto,  does  it  please  you  to  see  me 
play  a  farce  of  dissimulation  ? 

Bardenholm. 
Since  it  can't  be  helped 

Bertha. 
Don't  you  feel  uneasy,  when  you   see  how 
well  I  can  perform  it  ?     Does  not  a  fear  arise 
in  your  mind  that  I  might  some  time  practise 
the  art  on  you  ? 

Bardenholm. 
Oh,  I  know  you  too  well  for  that.     {Kisses 
her  hand.) 

Bertha. 
Whoever  has  lied  once,  can  lie  again.     Were 


no  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

I  in  your  place,  I  would  never  trust  a  woman  who 

deceives. 

Bardenholm. 

I  know  why  you  do  it.  I  know  how  difficult 
it  is  for  you  to  dissemble.  It  is  a  great  sacri- 
fice which  you  make  for  me,  the  most  touch- 
ing proof  of  your  love.  Besides,  you  are  mis- 
taken in  believing  that  dissimulation,  under 
all  circumstances,  is  dishonorable.  The  choic- 
est human  beings  have  ahvays  regarded  it  as  a 
necessity  to  hide  their  higher  lives  from  the 
gaze  of  the  common  herd.  They  have  claimed 
it  as  a  privilege  of  their  superiority  proudly  to 
exclude  ordinary  mortals  from  their  most  pri- 
vate acts  and  feelings.  Think  of  the  Eleusi- 
nian  mysteries.  We,  too,  have  our  Eleusinian 
mystery  (stroking  her  hair).  You  are  my  fair 
secret,  Bertha.  Surely  you  must  know  the 
lofty  sensation  cf  moving  amid  common  mor- 
tals and  saying  to  yourself :  I  know  something 
marvellously  beautiful  of  which  you  are  not 
aware;  I  have  something  precious  which  you 
do  not  possess.  It  would  be  a  profanation,  if 
this  should  cease. 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  Ill 

Bertha. 
You  can  represent  everything  in  very 
beautiful  colors ;  I  am  accustomed  to  that ; 
but,  Otto,  you  are  aware  that  your  Eleusinian 
mysteries  afford  me  no  pleasure.  Clear,  open 
relations  are  a  thousand  times  dearer  to  me 
than  the  most  poetic  secret. 

Bardenholm. 
Now  you  are  again  thinking  in  just  as  com- 
monplace a  way  as — (Bertha  turns  from  him 
pouting.  Bardenholm  takes  Jier  hajtd  and  draws 
the  struggling  figure  toward  him.)  Well,  I 
didn't  say  anything.  You  see,  my  sweet  lit- 
tle Bertha,  I  only  want  to  make  you  compre- 
hend the  necessities  of  our  situation,  and  not 
uselessly  rebel  against  them.  We  might  have 
so  much  pleasure,  and  you  poison  every  mo- 
ment of  happiness  with  the  most  foolish  self- 
torment.     Is  this  sensible  ? 

Bertha. 
We  might  have  so  much  pleasure — certainly 
— I  feel  that  too — at  least  I  hope  so — other- 
wise— but  then  matters  ought  not  to  remain 


112  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

as  they  are.    Have  you  no  desire  for  a  change, 

Otto? 

Bardenholm. 
To    speak   frankly,    no.     At   the   utmost    I 
would  wish  you  a  somewhat  more  easy  tem- 
perament.    I  am  perfectly  content,  so  long  as 
I  have  you. 

Bertha  {vehemently). 
But  you  do  not  have  me.  Nor  I  you.  That 
is  just  it.  I  feel  so  horribly  unsupported, 
adrift,  unconnected  with  the  world.  I  have 
broken  with  the  past ;  I  see  no  future  ;  I  know 
not  to  whom  I  belong,  or  what  I  ought  to  do. 
When  I  am  downstairs,  the  feeling  often  seizes 
me  that  I  must  go  far,  far  away,  where  no  one 
knows  me.  I  move  about  my  rooms  and  sud- 
denly ask  myself:  "  What  am  I  doing  here?  " 
I  seem  like  a  person  in  a  strange  house,  and 
imagine  that  some  one  will  enter,  look  at  me 
in  surprise,  and  ask  :'' What  do  you  want?" 
And  when — when  I  am  not  alone,  it  is  far,  far 
worse.  That  is  why  you  must  never  wonder 
if  I  come  unexpectedly. 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  II3 

Bardenholm  {draws  her  to  him). 
You  sweet  creature. 

Bertha  (releasing  herself). 
This   state   of    affairs    can    last    no   longer. 
The  conflict   will   kill  me.     My   body   below, 
my  soul   here — it   is  impossible.     Either   one 
thing  or  the  other. 

Bardenholm. 
Either  one  thing  or  the  other!  You  are  a 
radical  little  creature.  Your  "  either  one  thing 
or  the  other "  can  have  but  two  interpreta- 
tions. "  Either  "  we  must  be  romantic  simple- 
tons, and  drown  ourselves  in  the  Segelsee  like 
a  little  cloak-maker  with  her  tailor  apprentice, 
who  have  read  shilling  shockers  till  their 
heads  are  turned,  "or"  we  must  be  heroic 
simpletons  and  put  an  end  to  all  torture  by 
renouncing  each  other.  I  have  no  fancy  for 
either  the  romance  or  the  heroism. 

Bertha. 
But  surely  there  is  a  third  possibility,  and 
the  simplest  one  of  all.     I  wonder  that  you 
don't  think  of  it. 
8 


114  THE  RIGHT  TO  LOVE. 

Bardenholm. 
The  fact  is — I  don't  see  this  third  possibil- 
ity. 

Bertha. 
We  have  still  another   choice  than  to  kill 
ourselves,  or  to  renounce  each  other — we  can 
surely  peacefully  belong  to  each  other. 

Bardenholm  ^joyfully). 
At  last !     That  is  what  I,  too,  say  constantly. 
Why  torment    ourselves?     Matters   are   very 
well  as  they  are.     We  will  let  them  remain, 
and  enjoy  our  lives. 

Bertha. 
You  will  not  understand  me.  When  I  say 
that  we  must  belong  to  each  other,  I  mean 
openly  before  the  whole  world,  so  that  we  need 
no  longer  play  hide-and-seek,  but  can  acknowl- 
edge each  other. 

Bardenholm. 
I  admire  your  courage,  Bertha;  I  am  ashamed 
to  confess  that  I  do  not  possess  it.     I  am  an 
official.     In  my  position  I  must  regard  a  thou- 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  II5 

sand   things.     Probably  you  do  not  consider 
what  a  terrible  scandal  there  would  be 

Bertha. 

It  would  last   a  few  weeks,  then  the  waves 

of  oblivion  would  close  over  it.     Such  things 

happen  every  day,  and  if,  afterwards,  we  live 

quietly  and  modestly  together,  we  shall  soon 

be  forgotten. 

Bardenholm. 

Forgotten  ?     When  we  daily  present  to  the 

world  the  spectacle  of  an  unlawful  connection? 

Bertha  {starting  up). 
Unlaw — could  you    suppose?     {Goes   to   the 
table  and  takes  her  hat  and  veil) 
Bardenholm. 
{Grasping  her  arm,  surprised.) 
Then — what  do  you  mean  ? — I  don't  under- 
stand you. 

Bertha  {struggling). 

Let  me  alone.     I  am  going. 
Bardenholm. 
I  will  not  let  you  go.     You  must  explain. 
{Leads  her  to  the  divan.) 


Il6  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Bertha. 
{Sinks  down  upon  it  and  covers  her  face  with 
her  hands.) 

I  have  what  I  deserve. 

Bardenholm. 
Forgive  me,    Bertha.     I    did    not    mean   to 
offend  you.     You  said  that  we  must  play  hide- 
and-seek  no   longer — that  we   must   acknowl- 
edge each  other.     That  can  only  mean 

Bertha. 

{Removing  her  ha^ids  from  her  face ^ 

Well? 

Bardenholm 

{Gazes  at  her  in  silence^ 

Bertha. 

Is  it  really  so  entirely  beyond  all   sensible 

reasoning,  or  do  you  wish  not  to  understand 

me? 

Bardenholm. 

Bertha,  I  assure  you 

Bertha. 
To  put  an  end  to  all  difficulties,  you  need 
only — give  me  your  name. 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  11/ 

Bardenholm  [startled^. 
Ah  !  {Looks  at  her  a  moment,  rises,  and 
paces  up  and  dozvn  the  room  several  times  in 
silence^  So  that  is  what  you  think.  I  ought 
to  marry  you  !  That  idea  certainly  could  not 
have  entered  my  head. 

Bertha. 
It  seems  to  me  the  most  obvious  step. 

Bardenholm. 
To  marry  you  !     You  are  not  free. 

Bertha. 
A  divorce  can  be  obtained. 

Bardenholm. 

Do  you  think  that  is  so  simple  a  matter? 
In  the  first  place,  there  will  be  a  long,  unplea- 
sant law-suit.  Who  is  to  commence  it  ?  You 
cannot,  for  you  have  no  charge  to  bring 
against  him. 

Bertha. 

Of  course  it  must  be  he  who  sues  for  the 
divorce.  He  probably  will  when  he  learns 
the  truth. 


Il8  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Bardenholm. 

Yes,  but  then  you  will  be  accused  of  adult- 
ery ;  I  of  being  your  accomplice.  We  shall 
appear  in  court  as  criminals;  for  months  our 
names  will  be  dragged  through  all  the  sewers  ; 
at  last  you  will  be  condemned — that  is,  the 
divorce  will  be  granted  against  you.  What 
will  become  of  my  career  I  don't  know,  and, 
at  any  rate,  even  then  I  cannot  marry  you. 
Bertha. 

What  ?     You  cannot  marry  me  then  ? 
Bardenholm. 

Of  course  not.  When  a  divorce  is  granted 
against  a  woman  on  account  of  adultery  she 
is  not  allowed  to  marry  her  partner  in  guilt. 

Bertha. 
That  is  infamous. 

Bardenholm. 
What  can  I  do  to  help  you  ?     That  is  the 
state  of  the  case.     It  is  the  law. 
Bertha. 
And  is  there  no  expedient  ?     Has  the  law 
no  exception  ? 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  1 19 

Bardenholm. 
No — that  is,  under  certain  circumstances 
there  is  a  dispensation,  but  it  cannot  be  relied 
upon.  Why  think  of  such  absurd  things  at 
all  ?  Even  if  we  suppose  that  there  is  no 
legal  obstacle  to  our  union,  still  we  could  not 
marry  each  other.  {Sits  down  oft  the  divan 
beside  Bertha^  Let  us  be  sensible.  I  have 
nothing.  My  salary  is  all  the  means  on  which 
I  can  depend.  I  have  barely  enough  to  pay 
my  expenses  and  wear  respectable  neckties 
and  gloves.  You,  too,  have  no  fortune.  On 
what  are  we  to  live  ? 

Bertha. 
I     shall    make    no    extravagant    demands. 
Peace  of  mind  and  definite   relations   are  all 
that  I  desire.     I  will  cost   you  nothing.     Til 
work,  earn  money. 

Bardenholm. 

Child,  that  is  absurd.     It  is  so  easy  to  say  : 

ril  work,  I  will  earn  money.     But  it's  just  as 

if  you  were  to  say :  I  will  fly,  or  I'll  wake  the 

dead.     No  ;   don't  deceive   yourself   about  it. 


I20  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Our  lot  would  be  poverty  and  wretchedness ; 
and  never  will  I  drag  you  down  to  such  a 
fate.  You  are  accustomed  to  live  in  luxury, 
at  least  since  your  marriage 

Bertha. 
This  wealth  humiliates  me.     I  hate  it. 

Bardenholm. 
Yes.  People  often  pretend  or  say  so  when 
they  possess  it ;  but  I  should  not  like  to  put 
the  haters  of  wealth  to  the  test.  At  any 
rate,  I  should  never  forgive  myself  for  tearing 
you  from  the  comfortable  circumstances  which 
suit  you.  Your  beauty  needs  to  be  adorned 
with  gems  and  elegant  toilettes.  Your  refined 
taste  demands  an  artistic  frame  for  your  life. 

Bertha. 
What  a  doll  you  must  consider  me,  if  you 
believe  that  I  prize  such  external  things ! 

Bardenholm. 
The  rose  does  not  know  what  it  needs  for 
its  growth,  but  the  gardener  must  understand. 
I  should  not  like  to  experience  the  moment 


THE  RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  121 

when  I  must  see  your  fair  brow  clouded  by 

sordid    cares.      {Kisses    her  on   the   forehead. 

She  passively   submits.)     And   this   is  not  all. 

My  conscience  would   never  permit  me  to  tear 

you  from  your  children. 

Bertha  {excitedly). 

My    children  ?      Why    should    I    part   from 

them  ? 

Bardenholm. 

You  are  jesting.     If  the  divorce  is  granted 
against  you,  the  children  will  be  taken  from 
you  and  given  to  their  father. 
Bertha. 
Their  father  will  never  take  them  from  me. 
He  loves  them  too  dearly. 

Bardenholm. 
That  is  a  conjecture. 

Bertha  {after  a  short  pause). 
What  do  you  want  to  show  me,  Otto?    That 
there  are  difficulties  to  be  overcome?     I  know 
it.     But  love  conquers  all  things. 
Bardenholm. 
That  is  a  form  of  speech. 


122  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Bertha. 
Indeed?  But  only  when  love  itself  is  a 
form  of  speech.  True  love  has  the  power 
and  the  will  to  struggle  for  its  satisfaction. 
Otto,  was  it  not  you  who  in  verse  cried  out  to 
me  :  ''  Fain  would  I  battle  for  thy  sake  "  ? 

Bardenholm. 
Remember  the  next  line  also  :  "  But  may  I 
dare  ?  "     I  dare  not,  I  dare  not. 

Bertha. 
Ah,  if  I  were  but  at  the  beginning  of  our 
acquaintance  again  ! 

Bardenholm. 
Do  you  repent  ? 

Bertha. 
That  depends  upon  you. 

Bardenholm. 
I  promised  you  love,  and  love  you  will  ever 
find  with  me.  Your  great,  your  only  fault  is 
that  you  take  everything  far  too  seriously. 
Why  regard  our  exquisite  little  idyl  so  tragi- 
cally ? 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  1 23 

Bertha, 
A  little  idyl  ? 

Bardenholm. 
It  need  not  be  anything  else.     You   have 
often   called  yourself  my  pupil.     I  wish  you 
were   really   so.     I    wish    I    could  impart  my 
views  to  you.     Be    somewhat  Pagan.      Serve 
the  gods  of  Greece  a  little.     Become  conscious 
of  your  human  rights.    You  are  young ;  you  are 
beautiful ;  you  need  love.     Where  is  the  wrong 
of  loving  and  being  loved?     Nature  smiles  ap- 
proval and  sanction.     If  commonplace  moral- 
ity looks  askance  at  it,  do  not  allow  yourself 
to  be  disturbed.     Loftier  minds  stand  above 
it.      Look   around   you.      In    every    drawing- 
room  you  will  find  women  who  do  not  deny 
themselves  the   pleasure    of   plucking  all  the 
flowers    which    bloom    along    their   life-path. 
And    a   perfect    radiance   of  cheerfulness   sur- 
rounds  them.     You    alone    make   your   heart 
heavy.     You  yourself  conjure  up  spectres  and 
then  shudder  with  horror  when  they  surround 
you.     {Looks  at  the  clock.) 


124  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Bertha. 
How  can  I  help  it,  when  I  am  continually 
obliged  to  ask  myself:  What  will  come  next? 

Bardenholm. 
You  forget  that  love  is  its  own  object.  It 
need  not  lead  to  anything  beyond.  We  will 
love  each  other  to-morrow,  as  we  loved  each 
other  yesterday.  This  prospect  wholly  satis- 
fies me. 

Bertha. 
And  suppose  that  our  secret  is  discovered  ? 

Bardenholm. 
It  must  not  be  discovered.     It  cannot  be,  if 
you  use  proper  caution. 

Bertha. 
But  if  it  should  be?     Then  what  will  be- 
come of  me? 

Bardenholm. 
Bertha,  do  you  believe  that  I  love  you? 

Bertha. 
Should  I  be  here,  if  I  did  not  ? 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  1 25 

Bardenholm. 
Well,  then,  you  must  also  have  confidence  in 
me.  Whatever  may  happen,  I  am  a  m.an,  and 
I  know  what  I  owe  you.  {Bertha  presses  his 
hand,)  But  I  repeat :  Nothing  will  happen, 
nothing  at  all.  Your  fancies  needlessly  darken 
the  fairest  moments  of  our  lives. 

Bertha. 
Fancies  !     When  I  ask  how  this  must  end  ? 

Bardenholm. 
We  won't  rack  our  brains  about  it.  Life 
has  solutions  which  the  most  vivid  imagina- 
tion will  not  suggest.  We  will  let  the  god 
who  watches  over  lovers  provide  for  us,  and 
meanwhile  keep  up  our  spirits.  [Glances  at 
the  clock  again.) 

Bertha. 
You  are  looking  at  the  clock  for  the  second 
time. 

Bardenholm. 
Yes,    my   sweet   little    Bertha.      My   friend 
Kalwert  is  coming  at  four  o'clock  to  attend  to 
some  business  we  have  together.     He  is  the 


126  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

soul  of  punctuality.     You  can  understand  that 
I  should  not  like  to  have  him  find  you  with  me. 

Bertha  (slowly  rising). 
So  I  must  go  ? 

Bardenholm. 
Unfortunately. 

Bertha. 
(Reluctantly  approaching  the  table,  half  aside.) 
Go — always  go.     And  again  we  have  come 
to  no  conclusion.     And  I  had  so  miuch  to  say 
to  you. 

Bardenholm. 
{Handing  her  her  hat  and  veil?) 
You  shall  come  again,  child,  you  shall  come 
again. 

Bertha. 
{Irresolute,  struggling  zvith  herself^ 
I  shall  come  again  ?     You  don't  know — we 
must  form  some  decision  quickly 

Bardenholm. 
(Pushing  her  gently  toward  the  door,  smiling^ 
Is  there  really  so  much  haste  ? 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  12/ 

Bertha. 

(Arranging her  hat  and  veil  before  the  window^ 
hesitating^ 

I  was  at  my  mother's  yesterday.  Oh,  Otto! 
she  wants  to  travel  in  the  south — I  am  to  go 

with 

Bardenholm. 

{Who  has  scarcely  listened,  goes  to  the  side  door  ^ 
opens  it,  puts  his  head  out,  then  hurriedly  draws 
it  back,  embraces  Bertha,  and  leads  her  toward 
the  entrance.     In  a  low  tone  as  they  walk.) 

We  will  discuss  the  matter  further — and 
meanwhile  be  happy,  child,  be  happy,  and 
trust  me. 

Scene  III. 
Bardenholm  {alone). 

Bardenholm. 
{Stands  in  the  middle  of  the  room.     Aside.) 
Marry!      Incredible!     {Goes  to  the  mantel- 
piece and  thoughtfully  lights  a  cigar.)     Why,  if 
one  cannot  be  safe  from  matrimony,  even  with 

married  women 

( The  curtain  falls.) 


ACT  IV. 

Very  elegant  boudoir  in  the  Wahrmund  apart- 
ments, Rose-colored  silk  hangings  arranged  in 
the  form  of  a  tent.  Thick  carpet.  Pink  toilet- 
table,  with  Venetian  mirror  at  the  left.  Beside 
it  a  large  three-leaved  Psyche  looking-glass. 
Tall  lamp  with  pink  shade.  In  the  middle  of 
the  wall  at  the  right  a  mantel-piece  with  a 
mirror  above  and  silver  candelabra.  Pink 
hanging-lamp  suspended  from  the  ceiling.  Be- 
low it  a  circular  seat  covered  with  pink  silk. 
Plants  in  the  centre.  Sofa  and  arm-chairs  at 
the  right  near  the  rear.  Doors  at  the  back  a7id 
the  left.  Two  windows  at  the  right,  A  pirik 
silk  portiere  across  the  door  at  the  back  which 
leads  into  the  drawing-room. 

Scene  I. 
Bertha.    Wahrmund. 
Bertha. 
(Enters  in  her  hat,  cloak,  and  veil,  a?id  begins 


130  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

to  take  off  her  veil  before  the  Psyche,     Wahr- 
mund  comes  in  directly  after ^  gloved^ 

Wahrmund. 
Oh  !  are  you  going  out  ? 

Bertha. 
{Starts,  turfis  hastily y  then  turns  back  again 
to  the  mirror.     Sullenly^ 
No.     I've  just  come  home. 

Wahrmund. 
{Approaches    her ;    he    is    drawing   off  his 
gloves,) 

Just  ?     What  do  you  call  just  ? 

Bertha. 
A  minute  ago. 

Wahrmund  {pleasantly). 
Perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Bertha. 
Oh,  let  me  alone.     When  I  say  just,  I  don't 
mean  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Wahrmund. 
That  is  impossible. 


THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE.  I31 

Bertha. 
Why  should  it  be  impossible? 

Wahrmund. 
Surely   you    have    no    invisible  cap,   child  ? 
Or  have  you  ?     In  that  case   I   should  often 
beg  you  to   loan   it   to  me   for  business  pur- 
poses. 

Bertha. 
(  Who  meanwhile  has  laid  aside  her  wraps?) 
Don't  talk  nonsense. 

Wahrmund. 
Well,  if  you  haven't  an  invisible  cap,  you 
must  have    come    down    the    chimney  like   a 
little  witch  on  a  broom-stick. 

Bertha. 
You   are  in  a  very  jovial  mood  to-day.     I 
don't  feel  at  all  cheerful. 

Wahrmund. 
Unfortunately,  you  never  do  lately.     But  I 
should  like  to  know  why  you  tell  me  that  you 
have  just  come  home. 


132  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Bertha  {very  impatiently). 

Then  ask  Minna,  who  opened  the  door  for 

me   a  minute  ago,   if  you  don't  believe   me. 

That's  enough  for  the  present,  isn't  it?    {Takes 

a  book  from  the  dressing-table  and  sits  down  on 

tJie  scfa.) 

Wahrmund. 

That's  strange.  No,  child,  I  won't  question 
Minna.  Do  you  know  that  I  have  been 
standing  in  the  hall  below  talking  with  the 
landlord  since  quarter  of  four?  No  living 
creature  could  have  passed  me  unseen.  Be- 
sides, during  this  quarter  of  an  hour  not  a 
human  being  entered  the  house  except  a 
young  man,  whom  I  think  I  have  seen  with 
Bardenholm.  Well,  what  do  you  say  now? 
{Bertha  remai?is  silent  and  prete?ids  to  read, 
Wahrmund  sits  down  on  the  sofa  by  her  side, 
covers  the  page  with  his  hand^  and  says  coax- 
ingly)  Now,  Bertha,  confess.  You  were 
going  out,  and  I  came  at  an  inconvenient 
time.  Go  without  hesitation.  I  won't  even 
ask  where,  if  you  don't  care  to  tell  me  volun- 
tarily. 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  1 33 

Bertha. 

{Starting  up  angrily  and  going  to  the  seat  in 
the  centre  of  the  room.) 

No,  I  tell  you,  no.  I  was  not  going  out,  I 
had  come  home. 

Wahrmund  {very  gravely). 
That  is  not  true.     You  wound  me  deeply, 
Bertha.     I  have  never  known  you  to  be  a  liar. 

Bertha  {furiously). 
Liar! 

Wahrmund. 
I    can    use   no   other   word.     You    did    not 
enter  the  house  from  the  street.     That  is  cer- 
tain. 

Bertha  (intensely  excited). 
Well,  then,  no,  I   did  not  come    from  the 
street,  but  from  upstairs. 

Wahrmund  {astonished). 
From  upstairs? 

Bertha. 
From  the  third  story.     From  Bardenholm. 

{Pause) 


134  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Wahrmund. 
{Slowly,  in  broken  sentences^ 

You  were  with  Bardenholm  !  Yes,  now  I 
understand  why  you  did  not  wish  to  confess 
the  truth  at  once — You  yourself  feel  how 
imprudent  it  was  to  go  to  his  apartments. 
Bertha,  you  ought  not  to  do  this — consider, 
if  any  one  in  the  house  should  see  you — what 
gossip  there  would  be.  Other  people  do  not 
know  you    as  I   do, — they  will  not  have  the 

confidence  I 

Bertha. 

{Who  has  been  struggling  with  herself,  in  a 
subdued  voice,  but  firmly}) 

Your  confidence  is  not  justified. 

Wahrmund. 

What  do  you  mean  ? 

Bertha. 
Bardenholm  and  I  love  each  other 

Wahrmund  {starting  up). 
What? 

Bertha. 
I   have  long  wished  to  tell   you  so.      Now 


THE  RIGHT  TO  LOVE.  1 35 

you  know.     I  will  have  no  more  secrets.     I 

am  no  liar. 

Wahrmund. 

{Clenching  his  fists,  stammers^ 

What — you  have — you  are 

Bertha. 
Try  to  keep  cool.     You  cannot  undo  what 

is  done. 

Wahrmund. 

(Rushing  upon  her  and  seizing  her  violently 

by  the  wrists,) 

Wretch  !     Oh  !  wretch  ! 

Bertha  {shrieking). 
Let  me  go.    Oh  !  you  are  breaking  my  arm  ! 

Wahrmund. 
{Pressing  his  hand  passionately  on  her  lips.) 
Silence  !     Unhappy  woman  ! 

Bertha  {struggling,  shrieks). 
Let  me  go.     Help  ! 

Wahrmund. 
{Between  his  set  teeth.) 
Silence,  I  say,  no  scandal ;   the  maids  will 
come. 


136  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Bertha  {panting). 
If  you  want  no  scandal — let  me  go. 

Wahrmund. 

{Hurls  her  hack  tipon  the  divaiz,  paces  in  the 
utmost  excitement  up  and  down  the  room,  often 
pausing  a7id  hesitating^ 

Oh,  the  wretch  !  Here  she  lives  with  me 
— under  my  roof — kisses  my  children — yet  de- 
ceives, and  lies,  and  wallows  in  the  mire 

Bertha. 
Kill  me,  if  you  wish ;  you  are  stronger  than 
I.     But  such  words 

Wahrmund  {stopping). 

What !     Outcast,    you    dare    to   open   your 

mouth  ! 

Bertha. 

You  are  very  brave.     Keep  on  ;  continue  to 

insult  me.     I  have  no  protector. 

Wahrmund. 
Then  go  to   your    protector.     Go  to   him  ! 
What  do  you  want  here  ?     What  have  you  to 
seek  here  ?     Begone,  wretch,  out  of  my  sight ! 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  137 

Bertha. 
{Rises  and  goes  to  the  door,) 

Wahrmund. 

(Rushes  after  her^  seizes  her  by  the  arm^ 
and  drags  her  roughly  back  to  the  seat.  She 
screams^ 

Oh,  wanton !  You  insist  that  your  shame 
shall  be  known  to  the  world. 

Bertha. 
I  wish   to  go,  if  you    behave    like    a   wild 
animal. 

Wahrmund. 
You  wish  to  go  !     You  wish   to  go !     And 
you  will  go,  never  fear.     But  first  we  have  a 
few  words  more  to  say  to  each  other — prob- 
ably the  last. 

Bertha. 
I  will  not  answer  until  you  remember  that 
you  are  speaking  to  a  woman. 

Wahrmund. 
A  woman  ?     A  vile,  faithless  wife,  who  de- 
ceives  her   husband!      Do    you    call    that   a 
woman  ? 


138  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Bertha. 
I  have  told  you  the  truth.     That  is  not  de- 
ceiving. 

Wahrmund. 

Certainly — because  I  caught  you  in  your 
hat  and  veil,  because  you  were  discovered  in 
your  treachery,  and  could  not  lie  your  way 
out  of  it.  But  for  this  accident  you  would 
have  continued  to  wear  the  mask  of  virtue. 
Bertha. 

It  was  no  accident.  If  I  had  not  told  you 
to-day,  I  should  have  done  so  to-morrow.  I 
had  firmly  determined  upon  it.  I  wished  to 
play  no  farce. 

Wahrmund. 

You  wished  to  play  no  farce.  Yet  you  have 
played  one — for  weeks  [stops  and  looks  at  her ; 
she  is  silent)y  perhaps  for  months  {she  is  still 
silent).  You  pride  yourself  apparently  upon 
your  frankness — you  even  admire  yourself  as 
the  heroine  of  truth,  which  you  have  always 
asserted  yourself  to  be.  You  have  no  cause 
to  do  so.  Your  frankness  comes  too  late. 
It    would    have    been    a    merit    before    you 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  1 39 

had  sinned.  Then  you  might  have  come  to 
me  and  said  :  *'  I  love  another."  That  would 
have   been   straightforward  and  honest.     But 

after 

Bertha. 
(  With  drooping  head,  softly?) 
You  are  right.     I  ought  to  have  spoken  at 
once.     That  is  my  only  fault.     For  that  I  beg 
your  forgiveness. 

Wahrmund  {bitterly). 
Your  only  fault  ?     That  you  did  not  confess 
your  sin  at  once  ?     And  the  sin  itself  seems 
no  fault  ? 

Bertha. 
{Raising  her  head  eagerly). 
No.     It    is   no   fault ;  it  is   no    sin.     When 
people  love  each  other  they  have  the  right  to 
belong  to  one  another. 

Wahrmund. 

{Gazes  at  her  silently,  then  sits  down  in  an 
arm-chair.) 

That  disarms  me.  That  certainly  puts  an 
end  to  everything.     {A  short  pause.)    And  the 


140  THE  RIGHT  TO  LOVE. 

promise  you  made  at  the  altar  ?    The  fidelity 
you  swore  to  me  ? 

Bertha. 
A  promise  given  half  unconsciously  by  an 
ignorant  young  girl,  amid  music  and  candle- 
light, cannot  be  binding  for  the  whole  life. 
So  far  as  I  know,  no  one  at  the  present  day 
has  the  right  to  sell  herself  as  a  slave. 

Wahrmund. 

Did  you  ever  feel  yourself  a  slave  with  me  ? 
Were  you  not  free  ? 

Bertha. 

The  test  of  my  liberty  is  now  made.  When 
you  hurl  the  most  cruel  insults  into  my  face, 
and  even  roughly  abuse  me,  because  I  obey 
my  own  feelings  and  will,  surely  you  perceive 
that  you  are  treating  me  as  a  slave,  and  not  as 
an  independent  human  being.  You  consider 
me  as  your  property — which  I  am  not.  No 
human  being  is  the  property  of  another.  I 
demand  for  myself  the  liberty  to  obey  the 
voice  of  my  heart. 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  141 

Wahrmund. 
You    have  not  that   liberty.      There    is    no 
liberty  to  commit  a  crime. 

Bertha. 
I  have  committed  none.     To  deceive  you — 
yes,  that  was  an  error.     I  have  entreated  your 
forgiveness  for  it.     But  to  love — no.     That  is 
no  crime.     That  is  a  human  right. 

Wahrmund. 
{Rising  and  pacing  up  and  down.) 
Perhaps  I  was  wrong  in  allowing  myself  to 
be  carried  away  by  anger.  I  really  believe 
that  you  are  not  accountable.  Your  crazy 
plays,  and  your  gallant,  with  his  fine  phrases, 
have  completely  turned  your  brain.  Unhappy 
woman  !  Have  you  ever  considered  what 
would  become  of  the  world  if  it  followed  your 
theories  ? 

Bertha. 
What  do  I  care  about  the  world  !     I  don't 
have  to  provide  for  the  world,  but  for  myself. 

Wahrmund. 
Indeed  !  And  you  have  provided  for  yourself 


142  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

admirably.  You  can  plume  yourself  upon  it. 
The  right  to  love  !  A  human  right,  do  you 
say  ?  No.  A  brute  right.  The  brute  pairs 
with  the  first  male  that  woos — a  human  being 
does  not.  The  right  to  love  !  If  a  woman 
wishes  to  preserve  that,  she  does  not  marry,  but 
becomes  a  wanton.  {Bertha  rises  to  go.  Wahr- 
"tnund  forces  her  down  upon  the  seat  again.) 
No,  no  !  you  must  not  run  away.  People  who 
are  as  strong-minded  as  you,  must  be  able  to 
hear  the  truth.  The  right  to  love !  I  probably 
possess  it  as  well  as  you.  Have  I  ever  claimed 
it  ?  {Bertha  is  silent.)  I,  too,  probably  do  not 
lack  temptations.  There  are  pretty  women  as 
well  as  handsome  men.  I  have  eyes,  like  you 
— but  there  is  such  a  thing  as  conscience.  We 
have  a  sense  of  duty.  We  say  to  ourselves  : 
Stop  !  I  must  not ! 

Bertha. 
As  if  reason  could  govern  feeling ! 

Wahrmund. 
Indeed  ?     Love  is  not  at  once  a  conflagra- 
tion.    I  don't  believe  in  the  lightning  of  your 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  I43 

silly   novels.       At   least   not    among   sensible 

human  beings.     Love  begins  in  a  small  way — 

in  the  germ  it  can  be  stifled  with  a  slight  effort 

of  the  will.     One  need  merely  shun  the  peril. 

A  woman  should  think  of  her  children,  of  her 

husband.     Of    course,  if   the    fire    is   fed    and 

fanned,  the  flames  will   rise  over  your  head. 

Love  can  grow  from  any  mutual  sympathy,  if 

vv^e  permit  it.     But  v/e  must  rule  it.     That  is 

our  duty. 

Bertha. 

Your  representations  come   too  late.     End 

them.     Let  us  speak  no  more  of  the  past,  and 

part  without  resentment  on  either  side. 

Wahrmund. 
Without  resentment !     You   have  arranged 
that  very  pleasantly  for  yourself.    I  can  under- 
stand your  feeHng  no  resentment  against  me. 
I  have  done  you  no  wrong. 

Bertha. 
I  do  not  say  that  you  have. 

Wahrmund. 
I  have  loved  and  honored  you.     {He  goes  to 


144  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

the  window  a  moinent^  struggling  to  control  his 
overmastering  emotion.  Tiirnitig  back  again.) 
I  have  allowed  you  to  want  for  nothing.  I 
have  lived  and  labored  for  you  alone.  How 
have  you  been  able  to  sacrifice  me  so  easily? 

Bertha. 
Do  not  torture  me. 

Wahrmund. 
How   can  another   have    made   you    forget 
duty,  fidelity — all  ?     What  does  he  offer  more 
than    I  ?     Speak !     What    does   he    offer  you 
more  than  I  ? 

Bertha  {resisting). 
My  life  was  purposeless.     You  did  not  aid 
my  mental  development. 

Wahrmund. 
Indeed?  That  is  your  grievance.  True,  I 
am  no  elegant,  whispering  rhetorician.  I  am 
a  practical  man.  I  don't  chatter  about  real- 
ism and  the  dramas  of  the  future.  All  that 
twaddle  is  not  worth  a  moment  of  my  time* 
But  have  I  ever  restricted  you  in  occupying 


THE   RIGHT  TO  LOVE.  145 

yourself  with  this  chaff?  You  have  been  able 
to  surround  yourself  with  everything  which 
promoted  your  mental  development.  Have  I 
ever  jealously  prevented  your  intercourse  with 
the  people  who  regaled  you  with  all  the 
aesthetic  phrases  which  are  apparently  neces- 
sary to  your  happiness  ? 

Bertha. 
Perhaps  that  was  just  the  very  thing.     You 
did  not  watch  me  ! 

Wahrmund. 

Was  I  to  watch  you  ?     Just  now  you  would 

be  no  one's  slave.     Now  you  are  suddenly  a 

harem    odalisque,    and    I    probably   ought    to 

keep  eunuchs  to  guard  you.     When  a  woman 

is   *' an    independent   human    being,"    as    you 

proudly  proclaim   yourself,  she    must    do  her 

own  watching.     I    am    no   Turkish  pacha.     I 

am    a   German    merchant.      I    trust    my   wife 

because  I  respect  her.     If  I  am  to   have  no 

confidence  in  her,  it  will  be  simpler  and  safer 

to  turn  her  out  of  the  house  than  to  watch 

her. 

10 


146  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Bertha. 
Now  you  have  probably  said  all  that  was  in 
your  heart.     I  entreat  you  to  let  me  go. 

Wahrmund. 

I  will  not  keep  you.  You  can  go.  From 
this  hour  you  are  a  stranger  to  me.  The  sight 
of  you  can  only  remind  me  that  you  have  pol- 
luted this  house.  {Bertha  rises  to  go.)  But 
one  thing  more.  What  is  to  become  of  the 
children  ? 

Bertha  {starts). 

The  children  ? — I  will  take — if  they  are  a 
burden  to  you.  I  will  gladly  provide  for 
them. 

Wahrmund  {scorfifully). 

You  do  not  know  what  you  are  saying.  I 
will  provide  for  my  own  children.  There  is, 
of  course,  no  question  on  that  score.  Our 
children  are  girls  —  do  you  understand  ? 
Therefore  their  mother's  conduct  is  not  a 
matter  of  indifference.  The  mother's  reputa- 
tion is  the  best  portion  of  their  marriage 
dowry.     In  twelve  or  thirteen  years  the  chil- 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  147 

dren  will  be  old  enough  to  marry.  Even  then 
the  world  will  not  be  converted  to  your  fine 
theory  about  the  right  to  love.  At  least  I 
hope  so.  I  will  not  have  people  point  their 
fingers  at  them  and  hiss  into  their  ears  :  "  Those 
are  the  daughters  of  the  woman  who — who 
left  her  husband  to — to — "  Well,  you  know 
the  rest.     {Paces  up  and  down  several  times.) 

Bertha. 
My   children    will    have    no    cause    to    be 
ashamed  of  me. 

Wahrmund. 
I  am  of  a  different  opinion.     True,  there  is 
one  way  of   stopping  people's   tongues.     But 
only  one.     Therefore  I  must  ask:  ''What  do 
you  intend  to  do?" 

Bertha. 
Don't  trouble  yourself  about  me. 

Wahrmund. 
You    misunderstand    me.     So    far  as    I  am 
concerned,  I   shall    not  trouble  myself  in  the 
least  about  you.     I  have  done  with  you.     I 


148  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

speak  only  in  the  name  of  the  children.  You 
will  probably  go  to  your — Assessor  ?  (Bertha 
is  silent?)  I  suppose  that  he  loves  you — 
{Bertha  is  silent)  and  that  he  respects  you 
enough,  in  spite  of  your  treatment  of  me,  to 
marry  you. 

Bertha. 
You  can  be  sure  of  it. 

Wahrmund. 

Very  well.  If  he  marries  you,  then  the 
world  will  at  least  have  nothing  to  cast  in  our 
children's  teeth.  True,  you  will  still  have 
destroyed  the  poor  little  things'  home  and 
broken  up  the  family  ;  but  we  will  hope  that 
they  may  not  realize  it — at  least  during  their 
childhood. 

Bertha. 

They  will  never  lack  a  mother's  love. 

Wahrmund. 
Nor  a  father's.     But  these   two  halves  are 
very  much  less  than  one  whole.     We  will  not 
talk  of  that.     It  is  now  my  duty  to  settle  this 
point. 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  149 

Bertha. 

What  point  ? 

Wahrmund. 
Your — remarrying.     That  must  be  arranged 
between  the  Assessor  and  myself. 

Bertha  {eagerly), 
I   will   not    permit    it  !      No   interference  ! 
That  is  our  affair. 

Wahrmund. 
I  am  not  doing  it  for  my  own  pleasure. 
The  matter  is  at  least  as  loathsome  to  me  as 
to  you.  But  it  is  unavoidable.  In  order  to 
marry,  you  must  be  divorced  from  me.  For 
this,  legal  steps  must  be  taken.  I  want  no 
scandal.  Everything  must  be  done  to  stifle 
it.  But  that  is  possible  only  if  the  Assessor 
and  I  act  together.  I  am  ready  to  do  every- 
thing to  facilitate  obtaining  the  divorce.  We 
will  agree  without  loss  of  tim.e  about  what  is 
to  be  done.  The  Assessor  is  at  home.  Send 
Minna  up  and  ask  him  to  come  down  at  once. 

Bertha. 
I  will  not. 


150  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Wahrmund  (threateningly). 
You  must.     You  have  destroyed  my  life.     I 
will  at  least  escape  from  the  ruins  as  quickly 
as  possible.     The  explanation  must  take  place 
some  time.     Let  it  be  immediately. 

Bertha. 
You  will  be  violent — you  will  wish  to  avenge 
yourself — I  will  lure  him  into  no  trap. 

Wahrmund  {bitterly). 
Your  anxiety  about  him  is  touching.  Be 
calm.  You  know  I  desire  to  avoid  scandal. 
That  will  protect  him  from  me.  I  shall  deal 
with  the  matter  in  a  purely  business-like  way. 
I  wish  to  obtain  the  statement  that  he  will 
marry  you.  Send  up  to  him.  {Bertha  sits 
still.)  If  you  won't  move — {he  goes  to  the  man- 
tel-piece and  rings  the  bell.) 

Bertha  (timidly). 
What  are  you  doing? 

Wahrmund  {harshly). 
Minna  is  coming.    Control  yourself.    I  want 
no  servant's  gossip  so  long  as  it  can  be  avoided. 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  151 

Scene  II. 
The  Same.    Minna. 
Minna. 
•     {Enters  thro^igh  the  door  in  the  background 
and  stands  there.     After  a  pause. ) 
What  do  you  wish  ? 

Bertha. 
(  Wearily,  in  a  stifled  voice.) 

Minna — be  so  kind — see  if 

Wahrmund. 
{With  repressed  anger.) 
Go  up  to  Assessor  Bardenholm's  rooms  and 
ask   him  to  come  down  here  for  a  moment. 
My  wife  requests  him  to  do  so. 
Minna. 
{Glances  from  Wahrmund  to  Bert/ia,) 
Very  well,  sir.     {Exit.) 

Scene  III. 

Bertha.    Wahrmund. 

Wahrmund. 

{Pacing  up  and  down,  after  a  pause.) 

The  right  to  love  !    Yes.    You  believed  that 


152  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

you  loved  me,  too.  At  least  you  told  me  so, 
when  we  were  betrothed.  And  probably,  at 
that  time,  you  did  not  lie.  You  were  mis- 
taken. I  hope  you  will  not  make  a  mistake 
again.  It  won't  do  to  deceive  yourself  twice, 
or  your  right  to  love  will  receive  a  very  differ- 
ent name.  Well,  I  trust  you  will  be  happy 
with  your  Assessor  {very  bitterly).  He  can 
develop  your  intellect  more  than  I.  Proba- 
bly he  is  more  gallant,  too.  That  is  always  a 
courtier's  way.  If  it  only  lasts.  The  husband 
cannot  compete  with  the  courtier !  If  he  is 
not  aided  by  a  little  gratitude,  a  little  fidelity 
on  his  wife's  part,  he  must,  of  course,  suc- 
cumb. Well  {with  a  wave  of  the  hand) — that's 
over. 

Scene  IV. 
The  Same.     Bardenholm.     Minna. 

Minna. 
[Opens  the  door  at  the  back  without  entering^ 
Please  walk  in. 

Bardenholm. 
(Enters  hastily,    Minna  shuts  the  door  behind 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  1 53 

him.    He  stops  in  surprise  at  the  sight  of  Wahr- 
mund.) 

Oh  !  I  thought — I  don't  wish  to  interrupt 
you,  Wahrmund.  {Makes  a  fnovement  to  turn 
back.) 

Wahrmund. 

You  don't  interrupt  us.  Stay,  if  you  please. 
We  have  serious  subjects  to  discuss. 

Bardenhohn. 
{St arts y  but  quickly  regains  his  composure^ 
Ah  !    in    that    case — pardon    me — I   have   a 

caller — an  important  business  matter — perhaps 

another  time.     {Attempts  to  go.) 

Wahrmund. 

{Steps  quickly  between  the  door  and  Bar  den- 
holm,  with  his  back  toward  the  door  and  his  face 
toward  Bardenholm.) 

You  evidently  suspect — so  to  the  point.  I 
know  all. 

Bardenholm. 

{Shrinks  back  a  step,  gazes  at  Wahrmund  a 
moment  in  silence,  then  says  quietly?) 

I  am  at  your  service. 


154  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Wahrmund. 
Indeed  !     And  you    think   that   settles  the 
matter  ? 

Bardenholm. 

I  repeat :  I  am  ready  to  give  you  the  proper 
satisfaction.  This,  I  believe,  spares  us  the 
necessity  of  prolonging  this  scene. 

Wahrmund. 
Certainly.  That  is  the  correct  thing.  We 
must  shoot  each  other.  Very  prompt.  A 
duel  with  a  deceived  husband  would  make  you 
utterly  irresistible.  No,  Assessor  Bardenholm, 
the  matter  will  be  dealt  with  seriously. 

Bardenholm. 
I  think  I  am  serious  enough. 

Wahrmund. 
I  do  not  agree  with  you.     I  will  assume  that 
you   are  a  man  of   honor,  though   you    have 
basely  betrayed  my  friendship. 

Bardenholm. 
Sir,  I  must  beg 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  155 

Wahrmund. 
As   a   man   of   honor   you  will   know  what 
remains  for  you  to  do. 

Bardenholm. 
I  have  already  told  you — when  you  choose, 
where  you  choose,  on  whatever  conditions  you 

choose. 

Wahrmund  {angrily). 
Oh,  drop  these  follies.  I  appeal  to  your 
conscience.  You  can  amend  nothing  with 
pistols.  In  the  first  place,  you  owe  satisfac- 
tion, not  to  me,  but  to  this  woman,  the  peace 
of  whose  life  you  have  destroyed. 

Bertha. 
{}Vho  hitherto   has  sat  gazing  into  vacancy, 
utters  a  deep  sigh  and  looks  up  at  Bardenholm:) 

Wahrmund. 
You   have   not   said  one  word    about    your 
victim.     You  have  not  yet  asked  what  I  have 
decided  concerning  her. 

Bardenholm. 
Probably  I  have  scarcely  the  right 


156  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Wahrmund. 
How  punctiliously  you  suddenly  weigh  your 
rights.  Had  you  the  right  basely  to  betray 
the  friend  who  gave  you  implicit  confidence  ? 
Had  you  the  right  to  rob  me  of  my  wife,  and 
the  children  of  their  mother  ? 
Bardenholm. 

If  you  use  such  words (attempts  to  go). 

Wahrmund  {threateningly). 
You  don't  stir  from  this  spot  until  I  know 
how  you  will  atone   for  the  wrong  you  have 
done   my   wife.     (Bitterly^     I    still  say    ''  my 
wife  "  from  habit. 

Bardenholm. 
( Who  meanwhile  has  recovered  his  composure^ 
coldly^ 

Why — I  don't  know  what  you  expect  from 

me. 

Wahrmund. 
You  have  robbed  this  woman  of  her  honor. 
But  a  married  woman's  honor  can  be  restored, 
as  well  as  a  girl's  who  has  been  betrayed,  and 
in  the  same  way — by  marrying  her.  I  sup- 
pose that  you  are  ready  to  do  so. 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  1 57 

Bardenholm. 
{Makes  a  gesture  of  surprise^ 

Wahrmund. 
Perhaps  you  are  secretly  laughing  at  the 
comic  spectacle  of  a  man  who  wishes  to  marry 
off  his  own  wife.  Wait !  The  affair  will  be- 
come a  serious  one  to  you.  So — will  you  do 
your  duty  to  your  victim  ? 

Bardenholm. 
(Coldly,  somewhat  sarcastically.) 

Your  v/ife  will  scarcely  thank  you  for  this 
interference. 

Wahrmund. 

I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that.  I  am  ful- 
filling a  duty.  I  speak  as  the  advocate  of  my 
children,  who  must  have  no  discarded  wife  for 
their  mother.  If  you  perform  your  obliga- 
tions, you  will  find  me  ready  to  settle  with 
you  quietly.  Finally,  I  claim  no  right  to 
detain  my  wife  by  force.  She  is  not  my 
chattel.  She  is  a  free  human  being.  She 
can  follow  her  inclination.  You  have  sup- 
planted me  in  her  heart.     I  will  make  room 


158  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

for  you  ;  I  will  not  stand  in  the  way  of  your 
happiness  ;  I  will  consent  to  the  divorce.  In 
the  eye  of  the  law  I  will  be  the  criminal — 
allow  myself  to  be  condemned.  So  the  affair 
can  be  arranged  as  a  mere  formality,  without 
scandal.  The  children  shall  spend  six  months 
alternately  with  their  mother  and  with  me. 
{Pause,)     Well  ? 

Bertha. 
{Looks  up  a7ixiously  at  Bardenholm.) 

Bardenholm  {avoiding  her  eyes). 
You    cannot    possibly  expect    that  without 
the  least  preparation 

Wahrmund. 
(  Vehemeiitly  interriiptijig  him.) 
I  think  you  have  had  ample  time  to  prepare 
for  the  situation.  You  could  not  doubt  that 
I  should  turn  out  my  wife  whenever  I  learned 
the  truth.  Will  you  desert  her  now,  after  you 
have  robbed  her  of  family  and  home  ? 

Bardenholm. 
That  is  a  matter  to  be  settled  between  the 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  1 59 

lady  and  myself.     This  is  not  the  place 

{attempts  to  go). 

Wahrmund. 

{Moves  to  the  door,  threatening  him') 
Run  away  ?     No,  no.     We  must  first  come 
to  an  understanding. 

Bardenholm. 
If  you  put  the  knife  to  my  throat  I  shall 
defend    myself.      You    will    gain    nothing   by 
force. 

Bertha  [in  a  hollow  tone). 
Enough,  let  him  go. 

Bardenholm, 
Besides,  all  this  in  the  lady's  presence 

Bertha. 
{Rises  wearily  and  tries  to  withdraw) 

Wahrmund. 

No,  no.  The  "  lady  "  {scornfully)  must  stay. 
She  is  "  an  independent  human  being,"  as  she 
says.  She  owes  it  to  herself  to  be  present 
when    her    own    destiny   is    being    discussed. 

{Bertha  sinks  back  again  upon  the  seat) 


l6o  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Bardenholm. 
I  have  nothing  to  discuss.     I  seem  to  have 
been  lured  into  an  ambush. 

Bertha  {dully). 
Not  by  me. 

Wahrmund  {quickly). 

It  was  I  alone.     I  wanted  to  make  an  end 

of    the    affair — if    possible,   without    scandal. 

Well? 

Bardenholm. 

In  your  first  excitement  you  speak  of  turn- 
ing out  your  wife — I  understand,  of  course — 
but  when  you  are  calmer 

Wahrmund. 
(Repressing his  rage  with  difficulty.) 
Let  us  have  no  fine  phrases.     Are  you  ready 
to  marry  the  woman  whom  you  have  dishon- 
ored } 

Bardenholm. 

But  this  is  really — how  can  you  expect  it  ? 
In  my  position,  how  can  I 

Wahrmund. 
In   your   position  ?     I    understand.      I   will 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  l6l 

agree  to  pay  a  sufficient   income  for  the  sup- 
port of  my  children. 

Bardenholm. 
{After  a  short  pause,  hesitati7ig.) 
That  will  certainly  make  matters  easier. 
True,  it  is  extremely  unpleasant  to  take  your 
money.  Of  course,  it  is  for  your  children's 
support — but  you  must  give  me  time.  I  must 
collect  my  thoughts.  I  owe  it  to  my  own  dig- 
nity not  to  appear  to  yield  to  violence.  I  must 
be  able  to  stand  before  you,  free.  {He  takes  a 
step  toward  Bertha,  and  makes  a  movement  to 
take  her  hand.) 

Bertha. 
{Utters  a  loud  cry,  starts  up  and  shrinks  back  ^ 
Don't  touch  me  ! 

Bardenholm  {perplexed). 

Why,  then — {to  Wahrmund) — you  see 

Bertha. 
Enough  !  Go  !  Go  !     {Sinks  into  a  chair  and 
covers  her  face  ivith  her  hands.) 

Wahrmund  {sternly). 
Too  late!      If  he   was  good   enough  for  a 


1 62  THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

lover,  he  must  also  be  good  enough  for  a  hus- 
band. So  much  the  worse  if  you  now  see  his 
baseness  for  the  first  time. 

Bardenholm. 
Sir,  I  have  offered  you  the  satisfaction  of  a 
gentleman.     It  does  not  suit  me  to  quarrel  like 

grooms 

Wahrmund.  , 

Don't  insult  respectable  grooms,  you  elegant 

scoundrel ! 

Bardenholm. 

A   man    who    will    not    fight    cannot    offer 
insults. 

Wahrmund. 

(Giving  way  to  his  rage.) 
But  he  can  break  bones.     (Rushes  upon  him.) 

Bertha. 
{Rushing  between    them  with   a   shriek^  ajid 
clhiging  to  Wahrmund' s  uplifted  fists.) 

No,  no  ! — let  him  go  !     Only   begone  ! — be- 
gone ! 

Wahrmund. 
(Struggles  to  release  himself^  follows  Harden- 


THE    RIGHT   TO    LOVE.  163 

hohn,  and  in  doing  so  drags  the  kneeling  Bertha 
with  him.) 

Out  !  miserable  villain  ! 

Bardenholm. 
( Who  has  reached  the  door  and  tears  it  open,) 
Shopkeeper  !        {Exit.    Bafigs  the  door  vio- 
lently behind  him.) 

Scene  V. 
Bertha.    Wahrmund. 

Bertha. 

{Releases  Wahrmund,  sinks  to  the  floor  and 
drags  herself  to  the  divan,  where  she  tries  to  col- 
lect her  thoughts^) 

Wahrmund. 

(  Walks  rapidly  up  and  down  the  room  several 
times,  then  goes  to  the  ivindozv  and  throzus  it 
open.) 

One  must  ventilate  the  room  a  little,  after 
such  a  fellow.  {Lea7ts  out  a  short  time.  Then 
he  turns  and  wipes  his  forehead  with  his  pocket- 
handkerchief  >i  Well,  are  you  sufficiently  dis- 
gusted with  your  cavalier  now  ? 


164  THE   RIGHT   TO   LOVE. 

Bertha. 

{Rousing  herself  as  if  from  a  stupor^  i?t  a  hol- 
low tone.) 

No.  With  myself.  {She  rises,  walks  slowly 
to  the  wardrobe  and  opens  it.  Takes  out  under- 
clothing with  trembling  hands,  drops  many  of 
the  articles,  picks  them  up,  and  puts  them  i7i  the 

arm-chair.) 

Wahrmund. 

{Leojis  zvith  folded  arms  against  the  wall  at 

the  back  for  some  time,  zvatching  her.) 

What  are  you  doing  ? 

Bertha  {dully,  without  turning), 
I  am  packing. 

Wahrmund. 
What  do  you  intend  to  do? 

Bertha. 
I  am  going  away. 

Wahrmund. 
Where  ?     To  your  mother  ? 

Bertha. 
{Hastily,  stopping  in  her  packijig^ 
No.     I  will  not  inflict  that  upon  her. 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  165 

Wahrmund. 
Indeed  !     What  will  you  do,  then  ? 

Bertha. 
{Hesitating,  with  downcast  ej/es.) 
I  don't  know  yet.  I  want  to  get  out  of 
your  sight.  Away  from  all  who  know  me.  I 
shall  seek  some  position.  As  governess.  As 
housekeeper.  As  nurse. — I  don't  know.  {S/ie 
stands  motionlesSy  staring  into  vacancy^ 

Wahrmund. 

{Paces  up  and  down  several  times,  sometifnes 
quickly^  sometimes  slowly,  and  then  stops  before 
Bertha,     Slowly^ 

Well.  You  will  keep  a  house.  You  will 
nurse  and  rear  children.  I  will  make  you  a 
proposal  :  Nurse  and  rear  your  own  children 
— keep  your  own  house. 

Bertha. 

{Gazes  at  him  with  dilated  eyes,  panting  for 
breath^ 

Oh — you — {rushing  toward  him).  You  will 
forgive  ? 


l66  THE  RIGHT  TO  LOVE. 

Wahrmund. 

{Hastily  retreating  a  step,  stops  her  with  a 
gesture  of  his  outstretched  hand,  and  anszvers 
sternly.) 

You  are  mistaken  I  {Bertha  lets  her  head 
and  arms  sink  loosely.)  I  will  not  forgive.  You 
did  not  understand  me.  I  will  explain  w^iat 
I  mean.  {Bertha  sinks  into  an  arin-chair, 
Wahrmund  steps  in  front  of  her  and  says 
slowly,  letting  the  words  fall  with  a  sort  of 
pleasure  in  self-torture>j  What  I  offer  you 
is  no  forgiveness,  but  a  severe  penance.  A 
terrible  atonement.  You  shall  stay  here. 
Before  the  world  nothing  is  to  be  changed. 
You  shall  continue  to  be  Madam  Wahr- 
mund, and  to  preside  at  my  table.  But  your 
guilt  will  stand  between  us  like  a  spectre.  We 
shall  be  strangers  to  each  other.  You,  who 
abhor  dissimulation,  will  be  forced  to  play  an 
intolerably  wearisome  farce,  before  society, 
before  the  children,  even  before  your  mother. 
You  will  be  in  the  same  room  with  the  hus- 
band whom  you  have  deceived  and  who  judges 
you,  and  you  will  be  unable  to  hide  yourself 


THE  RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  1 67 

from  his  eyes.  You  will  go  to  social  enter- 
tainments at  my  side,  you  v.ill  feel  my  arm 
shrink  with  repugnance  at  the  touch  of  your 
hand,  and  you  will  be  compelled  to  wear  a 
smiling  face.  Your  home  will  be  a  prison  to 
you.  You  would  not  be  a  slave.  You  will 
be  the  slave  of  your  own  guilt.  You  see  I 
conceal  nothing  and  palliate  nothing.  You 
will  suffer  bitterly.  So,  too,  shall  I.  For  to 
me  also  it  will  be  a  constant  torture  to  have 
the  sight  of  you  remind  me  of  everything — to 
have  around  me  the  phantom  of  a  happiness 
which  is  lost  {as  if  struggling  to  repress  a 
thought  dawning  in  his  mind^  impressively),  for- 
ever lost.  This  is  a  hellish  torment.  And  I 
have  not  deserved  it.  But  I  know  why  I 
impose  it  upon  us  both — for  the  children's 
sake.  They  must  perceive  nothing.  They 
must  continue  to  dream  their  childish  dreams 
of  peace  and  happiness.  Because,  if  people 
have  children,  they  owe  them  their  lives. 
You  did  not  consider  that.  Now,  sacrifice 
yourself  for  them.  This  shall  be  your  atone- 
ment.      Perhaps     you     think    it     too    hard. 


l68  THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE. 

Strengthen  yourself  by  the  thought  that 
the  children  at  least  will  respect  you,  though 
— I  cannot.  Have  you  the  courage  to  take 
up  your  cross  ? 

Bertha. 
{^Hiding  her  face  in  her  hands^ 
I  cannot.     It  is  too  hard. 

Wahrmund. 
Think  of  the  children. 

Bertha  {as  before). 
To  die — that  is  the  solution. 

Wahrmund  {dully). 
For  you — not  for  the  children. 
{After  a  pause,) 

Bertha  {sobbing). 
Do  with  me  as  you  choose.     I  will  atone — ■ 
till  you  forgive. 

Wahrmund. 
{Makes  a  gesture  of  repulse?) 
{The  children   are  heard  entering  the  ante' 
room,  calling  loudly  :  **  Where  is  mamma?") 


THE   RIGHT  TO   LOVE.  169 

Wahrmund. 
{Puts  his  hand  on  Bertha  s  shoulder^  saying 
quickly^ 

Control  yourself — the  children  must  not  see 
you  so. 

Bertha. 
{Starts  up,  stands  for  an  instant    as  if  be- 
wildered^ then  passes  Jier  hand  across  her  eyes 
and  totters  out.) 

Wahrmund. 
{Looks   after   her    until  the  door   has   closed 
behind  her^  then  sinks  sloivly  into  a  chair  and 
hides  his  face  in  his  hands.) 

(  The  curtain  falls,) 


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FORT  FRAY^E.-CAPT.  CHAS.  KING,  U.  S.  A.,  Author  of  "The  Col- 
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THE  OWE  TOO  MA]!¥Y— By  E.  LYNN  LINTON,  Author  of  "Patricia 
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14 


FORT 
FRAYNE 


A  MEW  NOVEL  OF 

fltfffiy  Life  in  the  |4ofthmest 

By  CAPTAIN  CHARLES  KING,  U.S.A., 

Author  of  "The  Colouel'B  Daughter,"  "j 
■Wartime  Wooing." 


12MO.  CLOTH,  $1.25. 


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Captain  King  is  probably  the  most  popular  American  novelist  of  to-day.  He  always 
has  a  good  story  to  tell  and  tells  it  wiih  spirit.  There  is  no  lack  of  climaxes,  of  strong 
situations,  of  dramatic  incidents.  The  reader  feels  the  author's  delight  in  his  own  stirring 
Btory,  and  is  carried  on  by  the  thrilling  movement  of  the  plot,  to  the  end, 

Captain  King's  novels  have  been  sold  by  the  hundreds  of  thousands.    He  is  known 
everywhere,  and  it  is  because  he  does  not  disappoint  his  readers.    He  gives  tliem  enter- 
taining, exciting  stories  that  are  always  full  of  surprises  and  end  happily. 
New^York        "The  Captain  has  done  manv  good  things.    He  has  a  facile  pen— too 
JBerald  facile,  I  sometimes  think— and  tells  a  storv  in  a  wav  to  excite  the 

admiration  of  boys  and  stir  the  blood  of  old  men.    He  knows  how  to  handle  incidents, 
and  does  it  with  skill.    I  like  to  read  him,  and  if  I  had  twenty  or  thirty  boys  I  should 
buy  this  book  for  their  delectation." 
Sariinsrton        "Captain  Charles  King  always  has  a  good  storv  to  tell  and  tells  it  with 
Free  Press  spirit.    The  reader  feels  the  author's  delight  in  his  own  stirring  plot. 

His  novels  have  been  sold  by  the  hundreds  of  thousands,  because  he  does  not  disap- 
point the  public.  '  Fort  Frayne '  Is  fully  as  exciting  as  anything  that  he  has  yet  pub- 
lished." 

Boston  "A  brisk,  bright,  military  tale,  with  plenty  of  movement  and  It 

Eveniiijif  Grazette        relates  to  exciting  Incidents  at  a  northwest  army  post,  a  couple 
of  decades  ago.    The  personages  who  fitrure  in  the  narrative  stand  out  distinctly  from 
its  pages  and  the  descriptions  are  exceedingly  graphic." 
Boston       "  Written  from  memory  of  the  lost  manuscript  of  a  drama  play  to  which 
Olobe  others  contributed.    Most  of  its  action  is  in  Wyoming.    Garrison  society, 

Eoldiera  and  Sioux  Indians,  make  the  scene  brilliantly  descriptive  of  array  life.    The 
plot  is  somewhat  sensational  but  it  is  entertaining  every  moment. 
Oregronian       "A  story  of  modern  Indian  warfare  and  modern  love  affairs  In  a  Wyo- 
ming fort,  and  is  full  of  interest,  and  lively  interest." 
Milfvankee       "A  typical  King  story,  entirelv  in  his  customary  vein  and  fully  as  In- 
Joarnal  teresting  as  any  he  has  written;  well  constructed  and  full  of  admir- 

able incidents.    Captain  King  makes  this  story  the  medium  of  a  defense  of  the  army 
method  of  dealing  with  Indians,  or  rather  a  criticism  on  the  Government  svstem  of 
treating  the  wards  of  a  nation  and,  indeed,  he  makes  out  a  strong  case  for  tlie  army." 
"Weekly  "Done  with  his  acknowledged  skill.    The  work  is  probably  one  of  the 

IVisconsin  best  of  the  many  army  stories  that  he  has  given  the  reading  world. 

Breezy  and  exciting  throughout. 
Denver  "Pleasant  reading,  pure  and  wholesome.    While  the  plot  of  this  tale  is 

Bepnblican  not  materially  different  from  the  others  of  this  writer,  it  holds  the 
interest  of  the  reader,  and  the  garrison  tragedies,  love  scenes  and  comedies  are  painted 
with  the  brush  of  one  vho  sketches  from  life,  and  few  writers  excel  Captain  King  in 
the  realistic  picture  of  battle  scenes." 

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15 


T'HE 

:  KING  IN 
:  YELLOW. 


By  ROBERT  W.  CHAHBERS. 

Author  of  "In  the  Quarter.' 

Neely's  prismatic  L;brary. 


Buckram,  Gilt  Top 


75  Cents. 


Edward       "The  author  is  a  genius  without  a  living  equal,  so  far  as  I  am 
Ellis  aware,  in  his  peculiar  field.     It  is  a  masterpiece.    .     .    I  have  read 

many  portions  several  times,  captivated  by  the  unapproachable  tints  of  the 
painting.     None  but  a  genius  of  the  highest  order  could  do  such  work." 
Philadelphia  Times        "Charming,  delicate,  skillful,  vivid." 

Philadelphia       "Expected  to  make  a  sensation,  charming,  full  of  color  and 
Item  delicately  tinted." 

N.  Y.  Commercial       "The  short  prose  tale  should  be  a  synthesis;  it  was  the 
Advertiser  art  of  Edgar  Poe.  it  is  the  art  of  Mr.  Chambers.     .     .    . 

His  is  beyond  question  a  glorious  heritage.  .  .  1  fancy  the  book  will  create 
a  sensation;  .  .  in  any  case  it  is  the  most  notable  contribution  to  literature 
which  has  come  from  an  American  publisher  for  many  years;  and  fine  as  the 
accomplishment  is,  *  The  King  in  Yellow'  is  large  in  promise.  One  has  a 
right  to  expect  a  great  deal  from  an  author  of  this  calibre." 

Times-  "The  most  eccentric  little  volume  of  its  Clittle)  day.    'The  King  in 

Herald  Yellow '  is  subtly  fascinating,  and  compels  attention  for  its  style 

and  its  wealth  of  strange,  imaginative  force." 
New  York         "Mr.  Robert  W.  Chambers  does  not  have  a  system  to  work  up 
Times  to  ;  he  has  no  fad,  save  a  tendency  to  write  about  the  marvelous 

and  the  impossible;  painting  pictures  of  romance  that  have  a  wild  inspira- 
tion about  them.  Descriptive  powers  of  no  mean  quality  are  perceptible  in 
this  volume  of  stories." 

The  New  York    "  Mr.  Chambers  has  a  great  command  of  words ;  he  is  a  good 
World  painter.    Hissituationsaremostdelicately  touched  and  some 

of  his  descriptions  are  exquisite.  He  writes  like  an  artist.  He  uses  colors 
rather  than  ideas.  .  .  The  best  drama  in  the  volume  means  madness.  The 
tenderest  fancy  is  a  sad  mirage.  .  .  *  The  King  in  Yellow  '  is  a  very  interest- 
ing contribution  to  the  present  fund  of  materio-mysticism.  .  .  To  read 
Mr.  Chambers'  little  book  is  to  escape  from  the  actual  on  poetical  wings." 
Minneapolis  "They  have  a  mysterious,  eerie  air  about  them  that  is  apt  to 
Tribune  stimulate  the  reader's  curiosity." 

Cleveland       "It  is  wondrous  strong,  dramatic,  full  of  color,  weird,  uncanny, 
Gazette  picturesque,  and  yet  a  gem  of  exquisite  coloring,  dreamy,  sym- 

bolic, exciting." 
Detroit  Journal       "  •  The  King  in  Yellow '  compels  attention." 
Denver       "Treated  in  a    most  fascinating  way  I    Weird,  mysterious,  power- 
Times  ful !" 

For  Sale  by  all  Booksellers^  or  sent  on  receipt  of  Price  by  the  Publisher^ 
F.  TENNYSON  NEBLY,  Chicago,  New  York. 


Father 


Stafford 


BY 


ANTHONY  HOPE. 


The  Most  Remarkable  of  Mr.  Hope's  Stories. 


'STAFPORDJ 


N66lu's  Prismatic  Libram. 


Buckram,  Gilt  Top,    75  ^^• 


Mianeapolis  "This  story  is  in  the  genuine  Hope  style,  and  for  that 

Tribune  reason  will  be  widely  read." 

Public  Ledger  "'Father  Stafford'   is  extremely  clever,   a  bold  priva- 

Philadelphia  teer  venturing  upon  the  high  seas." 

Sun  Frnvcisco  "It  is  a  good  story,  the  strong  parts  of  which  are  the 

Chronicle  conflict   between  love  and  conscience  on  the  part   of 

a  5'oung  Anglican  priest.    The  charm  of  the  book,  however,  lies  in  the  brisk- 
ness of  the  dialogue,  which  is  as  finely  finished  as  any  of  Hope's  novels. 
Nashville  "' Father  Stafford' is  a  charming  story.    The  whole  book 

Banner  sustains  the  reputation  that  Anthony  Hope  has  made, 

and  adds  another  proof  that  as  a  portrayer  of  characters  of  sharp  distinctness 

and  individuality,  ne  has  no  superior," 
Evening  "A  writer  of  great  merit.    .    .    .    Mr.  Hope's  work  has  a 

Wisconsin  quality  of  straightforwardness  that   recommends  it    to 

readers  who  have  grown  tired  of  the  loaded  novel." 
Phillipsbarg  "This  is  considered  by  his  critics  to  be  one  of  the  strong- 

Jcnrnal  est,  most  beautiful  and  interesting  novels  Mr.  Hope  has 

ever  written.     There  is  not  a  dull  line  in  the  entire  volume." 
Amusement  "The  dialogue  is  briglit  and  worldly,  and  the  other  char- 

Gazette  acters  do  not  suffer  because  so  prominent  is  the  hero; 

they  are  well  drawn  and  quite  out  of  the  ordinary." 
Yanity,  "A  very  interesting  narrative,  and  Mr.  Hope  tells  the 

New  York:  story  after  that  fashion  which  he  would  seem  to  have 

made  peculiarly  his  own." 
Kansas  City  "There  is  something  more  than  the  romance  of  the  action 

Journal  to  hold  the  reader's  mind.    It  is  one  of  the  author's 

best  productions." 
Every  Saturday,     "Anthony  Hope  is  a  master  of  dialogue,  and  to  his  art  in 
Elgin,  111.  this  particular  is  due  the  enticing  interest  which  leads 

the  reader  on  from  page  to  page." 
Hebrew  "  The  strife  between  the  obligation  of  a  vow  of  celibacy 

Standard  and  the  promptings  of  true  love  are  vividly  portrayed 

in  this  little   book.    ...    It  contains  an  admirable  description  of  English 

country  life,  and  is  well  written." 
Boston  Daily  "It  has  enough  of  the  charm  of  the  author's  thought  and 

Globe  style  to  identify  it  as  characteristic,  and  make  it  very 

pleasing." 

Fcr  Sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  sent  on  receipt  of  Price  by  the  Publisher, 

F.  TENNYSON  NEELY,  Cliicago,  New  York. 

«3 


NEELY'S 

LIBRARY  OF  CHOICE  UTERATUBE, 


Paper  Covers,  50  cts. 


MISS  DEVEREUX  OP  THE  MARIQUITA.    Richard  Henry  Savage. 
WASHINGTON;   OK,  THE   REVOLUTION.     A  Drama.     In  Two  Parts. 

Over  100  Illustrations.    Ethan  Allen. 
A  MONK  OF  CRUTA.    E.  Phillips  Oppenheim. 
IN  STRANGE  COMPANY.     Full-page  Illustrations.    Guy  Boothby. 
THE  GATES  OF  DAWN.     Fergus  Hume. 
THE  ONE  TOO  MANY.     Mrs.  E.  Lynn  Linton. 
IN  THE  OLD  CHATEAU.     Richard  Henry  Savage. 
RACHEL  DENE.     Robert  Buchanan. 
AT  MARKET  VALUE.     Grant  Allen. 
LOURDES.    Emile  Zola. 

THE  MINOR  CHORD.     A  Story  of  a  Prima  Donna.    J.  Mitchell  Chappie. 
CAMPAIGNS  OF  CURIOSITY.     Elizabeth  L.  Banks. 
LIFE  AND  SERMONS  OF  DAVID  SWING. 
A  DAUGHTER  OF  JUDAS.     Richard  Henry  Savage. 
THE  FLYING  HALCYON.     Richard  Henry  Savage. 
THE  NEW  MAN  AT  ROSSMERE.     Mrs.  J.  H.Walworth. 
THE  DISAPPEARANCE  OF  MR.  DERWENT.     Thos.  Cobb. 
THE  PRINCESS  OF  ALASKA.    Richard  Henry  Savage. 
IN  THE  QUARTER.     Robert  W.  Chambers. 

THE  ANARCHIST.     A  Story  of  To-day.     Richard  Henry  Savage. 
A  RENTED  HUSBAND.     Voisin. 
HAWAIIAN  LIFE.     Charles  Warren  Stoddard. 
LOVE  AFFAIRS  OF  A  V/ORLDLY  MAN.     Maibelle  Justice. 
LOVE  LETTERS  OF  A  WORLDLY  WOMAN.     Mrs.  W.  K.  Clifford. 
ON  A  MARGIN.     Julius  Chambers. 
FOR  LIFE  AND  LOVE.     Richard  Henry  Savage. 
THE  PASSING  SHOW.     Richard  Henry  Savage. 
DELILAH  OF  HARLEM.     Richard  Henry  Savage. 
THE  MASKED  VENUS.     Richard  Henry  Savage. 
PRINCE  SCHAMYL'S  WOOING.     Richard  Henry  Savage. 
THE  LITTLE  LADY  OF  LAGUNITAS.     Richard  Henry  Savage. 
NANCE.     A  Kentucky  Romance.     Nanci  Lewis  Greene. 
MADAM  SAPPHIRA.    Edgar  Saltus. 
ARE  MEN  GAY  DECEIVERS?    Mrs.  Frank  Leslie. 
MISS  MADAM.    Opie  Read. 
THE  FALLEN  RACE.     Austyn  Granville. 
A  YOUNG  LADY  TO  MARRY,  and  other  French  Stories. 

Claretie,  Mairet.  Guy  de  Maupassant,  Copp6e,  Noir  and  Gr^ville 
THE  ADOPTED  DAUGHTER.     Edgar  Fawcett. 
SWEET  DANGER.    Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 
BITTER  FRUITS.     Madam  Caro. 
L'EVANGELISTE.     Alphonse  Daudet. 
REMARKS  BY  BILL  NYE.    Edgar  Wilson  Nye. 
HYPNOTISM.    Jules  Claretie. 


For  Sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  sent  on  receii>t  of  Price  by  the  Publishtr^ 

F.  TENNYSON   NEELY,  Chicago,  New  York. 

30 


Neely's  Popular  Library. 


Paper  Covers,  25  cts. 


KIDNAPPED.    Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

MICAH  CLARKE.     A.  Conan  Doyle. 

A  ROMANCE  OF  TWO  WORLDS.     Marie  Corelli. 

THE  SIGN  OF  THE  FOUR.    A.  Conan  Doyle. 

SPORT  ROYAL.    Anthony  Hope. 

TREASURE  ISLAND.    Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

MASTER   AND    MAN.    Tolstoi. 

THE  DEEMSTER.    Hall  Caine. 

THE  WHITE  COMPANY.    A.  Conan  Doyle. 

THE  BONDMAN.     Hall  Caine. 

BURKETT'S  LOCK.     M.  G.  McLellan. 

THE  CHILD  OF  THE  BALL.     DeAlarcon. 

CLAUDEA'S  ISLAND.    Esm6  Stuart. 

LYDIA.    Sydney  Christian. 

\VEBSTER'S  PRONOUNCING  DICTIONARY.     (Illustrated.) 

AROUND  THE  WORLD  IN  EIGHTY  DAYS.    Jules  Verne. 

THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  SEVEN  GABLES.     Nathaniel  Hawthome. 

WHEN  A  MAN'S  SINGLE.    J.  M.  Barrie. 

A  TALE  OF  TWO  CITIES.  Charles  Dickens. 

BEYOND  THE  CITY.     A.  Conan  Doyle. 

THE  MAN  IN  BLACK.     Stanley  J.  Weyman. 

THE  MAHARAJAH'S  GUEST.     An  Indian  Exile. 

THE  LAST  OF  THE  VAN  SLACKS.     Edward  S.  Van-Zile. 

A  LOVER'S  FATE  AND  A  FRIEND'S  COUNSEL.     Anthony  Hope. 

WHAT  PEOPLE  SAID.     An  Idle  Exile. 

MARK  TWAIN— His  Life  and  Work.  Will  M.  Clemens. 

THE  MAJOR.     Major  Randolph  Gore  Hampton. 

ROSE  AND  NINETTE.     Alphonse  Daudet. 

THE  MINISTER'S  WEAK  POINT,     David  Maclure. 

AT  LOVE'S  EXTREMES.     I^Iaurice  Thompson. 

BY  RIGHT  NOT  LAW.     R.  H.  Sherard. 

SHIPS  THAT  PASS  IN  THE  NIGHT.     Beatrice  Harraden. 

DODO;  A  Detail  of  the  Day.     E.  F.  Benson. 

A  HOLIDAY  IN  BED,  and  Other  Sketches.      J.  M.  Barrie. 

CHRISTOPHER  COLUMBUS;  His  Life  and  Voyages.     F.  B.  Wilkie. 

IN  DARKEST  ENGLAND  AND  THE   WAY   OUT.     Gen.  Booth. 

UNCLE  TOM'S   CABIN.     Harriet  Beecher  Stowe. 

DREAM  LIFE.     Ik  Marvel  (Donald  G.  Mitchell). 

COSMOPOLIS.     Paul  Bourget. 

REVERIES   OF   A    BACHELOR.     Ik  Marv'el(Donald  G.  Mitchell). 

WAS   IT   SUICIDE?    Ella  Wheeler  Vv^ilcox. 

POEMS   AND  YARNS,    James  Whitcomb  Riley  and  Bill  Nye. 

AN  ENGLISH  GIRL  IN  AMERICA.    Tallulah  Matteson  Powell. 

SPARKS   FROM   THE    PEN   OF    BILL   NYE. 

PEOPLE'S   REFERENCE   BOOK-ggg.ggg  Facts. 

MARTHA  WASHINGTON  COOK  BOOK, 

HEALTH  AND  BEAUTY,     Emily  S.  Bouton. 

SOCIAL  ETIQUETTE.    Emily  S.  Bouton. 

LOOKING    FORWARD.    Illustrated  Visit  to  the  World's  Fair. 


For  Sale  by  all  Booksellers,  or  sent  on  receipt  of  Price  by  the  Publisher^ 

F.  TENNYSON  NEELY,  CMc5ago,  New  York. 

31 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


QL    0CTT6l9b5 


UL  APR15  I'M 


MAY  ft  1  2002 


J 1998 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


TUF.  LIBRARY 


TnTi-^iA 


r    I  C'-i-'-r\J  m  )NO  K/1  t 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     001  184  231     7 


'S  :W 


•*«'-%:„,-, 


